Time in a Bottle
by purrfect
Summary: Time has a way of turning truth into myths and heroes into legends. This, then, is the story of one myth come to life to help Harry Potter find power which the Dark Lord knows not, and perhaps save herself. 7th Year SnapeOC RHr HG FINISHED
1. Prologue: In The Beginning

Long ago, before there was time, there was Faery. Not just a race, not just a moment, but a dream of magic and mist and legend.

Out of the promise of Faery rose Merlin. Merlin the Wizard, who before he was Arthur's Merlin was just another boy who traveled and dreamed and hoped and loved.

Then Merlin grew older, the world changed, and war found its way to Faery. Desperate for a Hero, Faery turned to Merlin. Merlin created Arthur.

Arthur changed Faery forever.

Oh, certainly he didn't mean to change anything. He wasn't even truly aware that Faery existed, and Merlin had become too concerned with other things to properly educate his King. But Arthur, with his Knights of the Round Table and his Holy Quests and his belief that light was always synonymous with truth and justice while darkness meant fear and death and evil, caused a rift in Faery. Where once light and dark, life and death, had coexisted as two halves of one whole, they now splintered. The Court of Light and Life, the Seelie Court, and the Court of Darkness and Death, the Unseelie Court, were born. The Seelie Court took a King, and the Unseelie Court a Queen.

Faery, once the home of myths and legends and dreams, now broken in twain, began a slow, inevitable slide into decay.

The line of Merlin, however, flourished. Wand magic, connected but somehow separated from Faery's magic of life and death and the elements, became the magic of the people. Schools sprang up, life moved on. Somehow, a line was drawn slowly and painfully between the world of Merlin's magical and the world of Arthur's non-magical kinsmen. Magic was lost to some, and cherished by others.

Somewhere, an ailing Faery wept.

The world, however, had not forgotten her first children. As always seems the way in tragedy, there was a prophecy.

_Century by century have you abided_

_Broken and jagged, torn in two._

_Wept, have you, for the line in the sand._

_The line is blurring, now, and while more time will pass_

_She will come._

_The Darkness will know her name._

_The Light will whisper to her its secrets._

_Merlin and Arthur will be her kin._

_She will be the Beginning._

_She will be Sidhe._

No one in Faery knew what it meant, but for the first time in millenia, they felt Hope.

More years passed, and someone, somewhere, remembered Faery. Emissaries from the wand users came, and Faery was reunited with Merlin and his kin. Though no children of Faery and Merlin could do wand magic, the number who could access the magic of Faery grew. There was rejoicing, but still the rift between Seelie and Unseelie did not heal. Faery despaired of their prophecy, and it was lost.

The world would turn a thousand more times before something wondrous would happen: Arthur's long, unbroken line of nonmagical children would fracture. Wand magic had spread into the nonmagical world, crossing the barrier erected so long ago. The whisper spread through Faery like wildfire, "The line in the sand! It is disappearing!"

The prophecy was remembered.

She was coming.

Faery danced.

Evil woke.


	2. Chapter One: A Place for Everything

Severus Snape disliked disorder. Every bottle in his supply closet was neatly labeled, every cauldron neatly stacked; even the hundreds of specimen jars lining the walls of his Potions classroom were arranged first by species, then genus, and finally alphabetically. His need for order was perhaps the reason his talents lay in the areas of Potions. An exact science of measuring and weighing and cutting, Severus had often likened Potions to the Muggle way of cooking. It was an art, and he was an artist.

"Well, or full of shite, but either way..." His own raspy voice startled him a little, but he chuckled anyway at his own little joke, turning from his cauldron to his supply shelves.

Still amused at himself, he spared a glance for the rows of 'icky, slimy things', as he'd heard many a Hogwarts student call his specimens that, truth be told, he didn't really need. He kept them mainly because he always enjoyed watching the First Years look vaguely sick as they walked into his classroom for the first time. It was amusing to see them try valiantly not to retch. Hell, sometimes even the Seventh Years gave his collection a second, queasy glance.

He chuckled again, a sound that would have surprised many of the hundreds of students of Hogwarts who found him a stern, unyielding taskmaster, and began muttering under his breath as he searched for the bottle of Faery blood he kept on the third shelf to the right, second row down. The bottle he was looking for was opaque glass with chased silver designs along its tall, slender length; a beautiful gift from the last Queen of the Unseelie Court to Hogwarts, the bottle had a mind of its own, and was rarely where he wished for it to be. While he could use the _Accio_ spell on almost any other bottle in his stores, this particular one did not respond well to wand magic. He grimaced, his features taking on their more accustomed surliness, as he remembered the first, and last, time he'd tried to call the bottle to him.

"Like I needed a pair of tentacles growing there," he muttered to himself. The thought, though, was just too ludicrous as he remembered Madam Pomfrey's horror when he'd shown her what the problem was, so he chuckled again, finally locating the recalcitrant bottle and returning to his cauldron with a small smile curving his thin lips.

It was true, he mused to himself as he stirred the clear liquid in the cauldron, that there were many people in the wizarding world that would argue that Severus Snape did not have a sense of humor. He had one, all right; a morbid one, to be sure, but he had one. After all, wasn't the path of his own life like some big cosmic joke?

Severus frowned and, shaking his head to set such maudlin and unnecessary thoughts firmly aside, he carefully measured a drop of the Faery blood into his cauldron and watched as the clear liquid swirled gold before fizzing a pale lavender. "Ah, success."

"It's done, then, Severus?"

The voice startled him, and Severus felt the ridges and whorls of the design of the glass bottle in his hand dig into his skin as he clutched it reflexively. Dumbledore had a bad habit of sneaking up on people, and he especially seemed fond of sneaking into the Potions classroom. Or at least it seemed that way to Severus. Forcing himself to relax by taking a slow, deep breath, Severus turned and nodded.

"Yes, it's finished, Albus. Although," he glanced down at the bottle in his hand, "it took the last of the Faery blood I had. I'll have to go about trying to procure some more." He tried not to think, then, of one particular Faery with smoke gray eyes and the awesome capacity to wound.

Dumbledore moved closer, peered into the cauldron and then dipped a finger into the still-fizzing concoction. The liquid immediately stopped fizzing as a fine, grey mist began to creep up Dumbledore's hand and arm. Seemingly satisfied, he pulled back his hand and turned to Severus. "I don't think we'll have to worry about finding more Faery blood."

Severus frowned, his memories, thankfully, receding a bit. "I thought you wanted to have a good store of this potion for emergency purposes. I can't make more if I don't have all of the ingredients."

Dumbledore smiled and patted Severus's arm, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "While I appreciate that you need all of the ingredients to make a potion, Severus, as I got an E on my N.E.W.T. Potions exam," Severus winced, feeling a little foolish at having treated Dumbledore like a First Year, "I again say I don't think we need to be worrying about having any Faery blood."

"While I always appreciate a good mystery, Albus, maybe you should just explain yourself. It's been a long day." Severus didn't mean for his voice to be quite so sharp, but truth be told, it _had_ been a long day, and he was tired. Tired and heartsore and not all happy with the idea that Dumbledore might be alluding to the possibility that a member of the Faery Courts would be coming to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore sighed softly and watched without comment while Severus replaced the now-empty bottle of Faery blood on the shelf and then began carefully pouring the potion he'd spent most of a week creating into green glass bottles. The silence in the dungeon was easy if not companionable, much like the relationship between the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his Professor of Potions.

Dumbledore knew Severus was right; it had not only been a long day, but a long couple of years. He knew, even without having a gift for prophecy, that the time when Harry Potter must face Voldemort for the final time was drawing ever nearer. Dumbledore felt like he had done all he could for the young man in the 6 years he had been in Hogwarts. In this, Harry's final year, Dumbledore had decided to do something a little different. He had not yet discussed it with anyone, and thought perhaps Snape, with his dry wit and slightly skewed view of the world, might be the perfect person with whom to discuss his plan.

"Severus, I've hired a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Severus merely grunted without turning as he continued cleaning up. While many of the Hogwarts students were positive that he lusted after the Dark Arts position, the truth was somewhat more ambiguous. Certainly, he felt like he could have done a better job than the last 6 quacks and frauds Dumbledore had hired, save, perhaps, for Lupin, though he would never say that aloud. Mostly, though, he really didn't want the responsibility of teaching young children defenses against magic they should never be exposed to in the first place.

When it became clear that the grunt was all the reaction Dumbledore was going to get, he chuckled. "Severus, you are the only person I know to whom it wouldn't occur to pepper me with questions about this new professor."

"Well, Albus, I'm sure since you mentioned it, you're going to tell me, so why should I waste time asking?"

Dumbledore chuckled again, and then he sobered. "You're right, I am going to tell you, and I want your opinion."

Severus felt his eyebrows wing up in surprise and couldn't help it. Dumbledore rarely asked him for any sort of advice. He knew why, of course; despite several near misses, Voldemort still believed him to be a loyal Death Eater, and neither he nor Dumbledore wanted to do anything to jeopardize his position. However, he had to admit he was flattered that Dumbledore wanted his advice. Recognizing that this was important, Severus stilled and faced Dumbledore fully. "All right, Albus, tell me about this new Dark Arts professor."

"I suppose I shouldn't say I've hired one professor, when I've really hired three." Dumbledore pretended to ignore the dumbfounded, mouth-hanging-open expression on Severus's face. "I have managed, through much wrangling and a little friendly persuasion, to create an alliance of sorts with the other magical race, the one we don't always acknowledge exists."

"You're speaking of Faery."

Dumbledore's frequent absences from both Order business and Hogwarts over the past months of the summer suddenly made a terrifying kind of sense: Dumbledore had been visiting Faery. Severus had been busy himself for most of the summer holidays and so hadn't given too much thought to the rumors flying about Grimmauld Place. Now, he remembered snatches of conversations overheard, and smiled grimly to himself that no one had managed to guess Dumbledore's purpose.

"Yes, I speak of Faery."

Dumbledore sighed, and Severus noticed for perhaps the first time that he looked tired. While his eyes still twinkled merrily and his grin was as wide as ever, some new tightening of skin about his lips, or new lines across his forehead, reminded Severus forcefully that Dumbledore was old, and that he had been fighting the good fight for much longer than anyone else. It was a sobering, disturbing thought.

"It has come to me, in the last year or so, that there is nothing more I can do for Harry and his friends. I am old, Severus, and tired." Severus blinked to hear Dumbledore echo his own thoughts. "Due to unfortunate circumstances, many of the children in this school have outstripped much of what we as professors can teach them." Dumbledore did not have to elaborate on his mention of 'unfortunate circumstances'.

Death Eater activity was on the rise.

It amazed Severus that, despite young Harry Potter's amazing ability to continue to slip from his "all-powerful" grasp, Voldemort had spent the years since his resurrection consolidating his power base. It was true that after the attack at the Ministry of Magic a little over a year ago, Voldemort had lost several of the members of his inner circle to death or Azkaban. However, the wizarding world was scared; they remembered what times had been like before, when Tom Riddle sought to be king.

Some of them were frightened enough to join Voldermort's new quest for power.

"I've thought about it a long time and I think it is time for a bit of a changing of the guard."

"What do you expect them to learn from the Fae? You know as well as I do that if they haven't already been sent to Faery, they are without Faery's gifts."

Rather than answering him directly, Dumbledore seemed to change the subject almost entirely. "I know you don't hold much with prophecy, Severus, but they do in Faery. For centuries, ages, they have been divided down a line they did not create."

"Right, the Seelie and Unseeling Courts. I know my history, Albus. Mythical Races was my minor at university, after all." Severus winced once more at his impatient tone but he had never been one for riddles. He also knew his impatience had little to do with Dumbledore's meandering thought processes as it did with thoughts of the Faery's prophecy and the havoc it had wreaked in his own life.

"I'm sorry, Severus, I sometimes forget that you are much more impatient than I." Severus managed to chuckle along with Dumbledore and shrugged.

"No need to apologize. It's just that while I don't hold with prophecy, I'm one of the few wizards who is quite aware that Faery not only exists, but of the prophecy they have set so much store by."

"True. You spent some time with the Unseelie Court, didn't you?"

There was no censure in Dumbledore's voice but Severus felt it, anyway. He had spent some time at the Court of Death when he was a young man, not long after the death of Lily and James Potter, in fact. It had not been a happy time for him, for many reasons, and Severus had decided to test the long-held theory that if you had something to forget, the Unseelie Court was the place. The theory might be true for most, but it had not worked for him. Severus nodded. "I did." He did not elaborate that he had once been acquainted, intimately and personally, with the Sidhe of prophecy.

Dumbledore just regarded him silently for a moment, those blue eyes that always managed to see more than a person could wish simply watching. Finally, when the air had become too heavy to breathe and Severus wondered if Dumbledore knew more about Severus's past with Faery than he might wish, Dumbledore smiled, a simple up curve of his mouth that might have almost been a smirk, and said, "Well, if you know then, there's no reason to beat around the bush. The Sidhe of prophecy has agreed to come to Hogwarts."

The once-orderly world of Severus Snape tilted into disarray.


	3. Chapter Two: The Heaviness of Fate

"Keelyn, look out!"

It was more the sharpness of combat reflexes honed over years of hard practice and practical application than it was the shout that had the petite woman turning gracefully to meet the sword thrust of her opponent. She felt rather than saw his grimace as her blade struck his and sparks flew. Recognizing his weakness, Keelyn turned once more and thrust the blade home. There should have been the harsh scrape of steel on bone, the wet sounds of flesh parted by magic, the metallic tang of blood on the air. Instead, Keelyn felt a searing pain rush through her body as she crumpled to the ground.

"Well done, Keelyn, well done! I haven't seen you wield a sword with such purpose in months. And you, young lady, would do well to remember that Keelyn doesn't need your help to see a blow coming." The voice was brisk and good-natured and had the pain slowly easing from Keelyn's limbs. She blinked and groaned softly, stirring against the cold stone ground, trying to get her bearings.

"Oh bother, Edana. I saw you step toward her to help, too." This voice held laughter as hands reached down to bring Keelyn gently to her feet. She frowned and tried to concentrate as the two women continued to bicker good-naturedly over her head. Blinking once more, she brought the room slowly into focus. The dizziness and disorientation immediately faded.

"I had forgotten how much I hate fighting with magic. Damn rebound."

At the sound of her voice, thready and weak, both women paused in their bickering to focus on her face. They both looked so concerned, Edana, with her midnight black hair and too knowledgeable hazel eyes, Deena with her pale, slender hands and wary blue gaze. Watching them watching her, Keelyn wondered, briefly, if they saw what she did every morning in the mirror: the expressionless eyes, the paleness in her cheeks, the blank slate of her face that seemed to be waiting for someone to write upon it. Sighing, trying to smile, she gently shook off their restraining hands and took a few steps.

"Yes, well, it doesn't help that you conjured the illusion, either. You should know better." Edana sounded even more brisk than before, and Keelyn knew she was trying to hide her own worry. With each illusion conjured to keep her sword and knife skills honed, Keelyn ran the risk of injuring herself permanently.

Keelyn chuckled dryly and shrugged. "You know as well as I do that no one else has been willing to fight me or conjure the illusion for me in years. I cause too much pain, take a little too much magic, when I win."

"Too bad Jason isn't here, then; he wouldn't be afraid to take you on." There was a hint of pride and something else in Deena's voice when she mentioned the Swordmaster's name that had both Keelyn and Edana eying her narrowly. She blushed, her fair skin pinkening very becomingly as she suddenly found her fingers very interesting. "Well, he would take you on."

Keelyn felt her heart lurch, just a bit, and sighed. So that was the way of it, then. It seemed to be happening more and more frequently, her friends falling in love. She didn't begrudge them their feelings, not really, but each time it happened, another little piece of her heart broke. Tugging hard on the end of her braid as if to clear her mind, Keelyn grinned and nudged Deena. "So it's like that, is it? Explains why you were 'cleaning' in the Room of Swords last night. Sending him a message, were you?"

"Oh, sod off, Keelyn. Can't you see little Dee is embarrassed?" Edana laughed when both Keelyn and Deena glared at her, then broke into giggles themselves.

Even as Keelyn laughed, she knew they were being watched.

* * *

"So, my Queen, does that set your heart at ease?" Blythe, Mistress of Blood and Fire, Queen of the Unseelie Court, turned from her scrying mirror and the three giggling women to smile slightly at the handsome man sprawled elegantly among the silk sheets of their bed. Zane, Master of Wind and Sea, King of the Seelie Court, somehow managed to look every inch the ruler despite his languid pose. That they ruled separate courts meant little to the heart; they had been lovers for decades. 

"It does a bit. You know as well as I do, though, that she will not be smiling when we tell everyone our news." She paused, and Zane watched as she conjured fire at her fingertips. It was an old habit, her 'playing with fire', one that often made them laugh. Today, it made Zane sigh softly and slide across the bed to take her hands gently into his, snuffing the little flames.

"It is the right thing we are doing, Blythe. We can not lock her away and pretend that her powers belong only to Faery." His voice dipped, and sadness swept across his sea-green eyes. "_She_ doesn't even really belong to Faery."

Blythe squeezed his hands, the coolness of his skin soothing her as nothing else could. "I know. And you're right. Just because I'm asking this of her doesn't mean I love her any less. But..." Blythe paused and sighed deeply, her dark brown eyes troubled as they searched his. "Zane, you've seen how she is. She's hurting and she won't talk to me."

"She won't talk to me, either. She hasn't talked to anyone, as far as I can tell, since she returned from America."

Blythe grimaced. "I wish I knew what had happened. She was so excited and hopeful."

Zane nodded and leaned in to brush a gentle kiss across Blythe's cheek. "Yes, and apparently not in vain. You wouldn't be sending her to Dumbledore if her mission in the United States had failed."

Blythe only looked more troubled as she pressed her soft, gently lined cheek to his rougher one. Her arms slid around his shoulder, and he suppressed a shiver as he felt her using her magic to draw little patterns on his back. "Yes, and that makes the whole situation so much more unbearable. She succeeded so brilliantly. Why is she sad?"

"I think _because_ she succeeded so brilliantly."

Neither King nor Queen had heard the door of the chamber open, nor had they seen the tall, slender man smile softly when he saw them holding each other. While he had not been in favor of all of the changes slowly coming to fruition around Faery, this one made his heart lighter. Blythe and Zane had been forced to keep their liaison in the shadows for much too long.

"Wendall! Don't you know to knock?"

Smirking, the Master of Birds as well as the King's First Advisor, shrugged one shoulder before propping himself languidly against the doorframe. "I do, yes, but there's always the chance that if I don't knock, I'll catch the two of you _en flagrante delicto_."

Blythe rolled her eyes as Zane chuckled. "You have your own harem, Wendall. Stay away from my woman."

"But she's the most beautiful woman of the Unseelie Court."

It was Blythe's turn to laugh merrily. "I notice you make the distinction between my beauty and that of the women of your own court."

"Well, I wouldn't want to anger my harem, dear Blythe." They all three laughed this time as Wendall poured himself almost bonelessly into a chair near the door. It was Zane who sobered first.

"Explain what you mean about Keelyn, Wendall."

Wendall was silent for a long time. He had learned through many years of service to his King that it was in his best interest to consider his words carefully before he spoke. That was perhaps doubly so in this case; Keelyn was a sensitive subject for the King and Queen. The two had been forced to send away their own two children as there had been no magic in their offspring. Keelyn, who had come to them at fifteen, scared, unsure and slightly desperate, had soothed the ache in both would-be parents' hearts.

"Faery is built on tradition. Since before time remembers we have been ruled by Kings and Queens. Even before the rift in Seelie and Unseelie there was a royal couple. However, we are not a hereditary monarchy. It has always been our way that politics and power go hand-in-hand. Keelyn has the power to rule. She does not, however, have the heart."

It was Blythe who would have objected, though Zane looked puzzled. Wendall held up a restraining hand, searching for the words to explain the lack of ambition to rule to two who had fought epic battles to hold their thrones. "Keelyn has finally, after all of these years, come to terms with who she is, though it is an uneasy truce. It has not been a easy road for her. She has always been afraid that the only way for her to complete the task destiny has set as her own is to become Queen of a united Faery. However, in the secret places of her heart, she craves a different life. By succeeding in this new task she has set for herself, by proving that she has powers beyond Faery's ken, she has merely, in her mind at least, cemented the fate she does not crave. To Keelyn, to be Queen has become another necessary burden in a load already made heavy."

When neither Queen nor King had a response, Wendall said gently, "You are doing the best thing you could for her by sending her to Dumbledore. He sees her as a way to help his own prophesied hero, this young Harry Potter, fight a battle he is slowly losing. She will see in Harry and in the fight against Voldemort the possibility that her power is not a burden but a gift." Wendall paused, once again testing the waters before he added, "Though I wonder if sending her to Hogwarts will be good for her heart."

"I would that you not speak of me when I am not present. It makes me feel fifteen once more, when I have earned the right to my thirty-three years."

Keelyn knew her voice was sharp with anger and pain but it was the guilt that chased across three faces that had her heart hitching. She had known Blythe was watching her train with knife and sword but she had thought the time long past when she would find King, Queen and advisors discussing her as if she were too delicate and simple-minded to care for herself. So she was to be sent away once more, to brood and worry that she shirked her duty to Faery because she had no heart left for the task. That she felt excitement and yearning to be away only added fuel to the flame of her temper.

Zane watched his adopted daughter stalk into the room and tried to suppress a smile. Keelyn was a beautiful woman and while she cared little for compliments, she took some measure of pride in her appearance. Petite in stature but not fine-boned, curvy despite her long hours of physical training with blade and magic, Keelyn had often been described behind her back as more a maid to bed than a woman to fear. Waist-length honey colored hair that she did not always have braided as now and a heart-shaped face comprised of high-cheekbones, a full, pouting mouth and wide, exotic eyes added to the illusion of sex that Keelyn exuded. She looked like a woman you could drown yourself in, for an hour, a day, forever. Until she turned those chameleon eyes on you. Keelyn's eyes were normally a slate gray, unfathomable and serene. However, Keelyn's eyes were truly a window to her soul, and they could swirl from deepest indigo to softest green to pale as death with her power. Because he loved her, because he saw the pain moving through those eyes more often than he would have liked, Zane's tone was sharper than he intended.

"We only do what we think is best for you, Keelyn, no matter your years. You will go to Hogwarts, take Jason and Helias with you, and do what Dumbledore asks you."

Keelyn felt one dark blonde brow wing high and tried to take a firm grasp on her temper. "You will not order me about as if I were five, Zane. And I will do what Dumbledore asks only if it is within reason." She paused, frowned, considered, firmly setting aside memories of one who served both Darkness and Dumbledore at Hogwarts. She would not think of him, not now, not ever. "Why am I to take Jason and Helias? Jason is the Master of Blades, Helias the Master of Beyond. I have an inkling of what Hogwart's Headmaster wishes me to do. What does he want of them?"

"Dumbledore thinks it will be a good idea if he adds work with blades to the Hogwarts curriculum. I have finally persuaded him that magic is not always enough. As for Helias, he is the most powerful Faery of the Unseelie Court save myself, so who better to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

Keelyn turned to Blythe, still frowning, still willing herself not to remember haunted black eyes and a Dark Mark that burned under her touch. "Yes, indeed, who better? Especially since the Darkness is creeping into our own halls, my Queen."

Blythe reached out, took Keelyn's callused, slender hands into her own small ones and said softly, "Yes, Voldemort creeps closer, and some have already gone to follow him. You may save Faery as per our prophecy, but what good will that do if this self-proclaimed Dark Lord destroys the children of Merlin? You are Sidhe, Keelyn, not Faery. Your power does not belong to only us."

"Then I must go."

When Zane, Wendall and Blythe only regarded her with equal parts resignation and agreement, Keelyn once more felt the unwelcome burden of what she was upon her shoulders. She wondered if Harry Potter felt the heaviness of fate as keenly as she did, and railed against it as she wished to do.


	4. Chapter Three: Thankful

Severus Snape was pacing, a habit he had only seemed to recently acquire. Since his talk with Dumbledore, his ability to be still and stealthy and calm had seemed to desert him. A brisk knock on his door had Severus swinging around, wand out, before he could think.

"Severus? Are you coming to the meeting?"

It was Minerva McGonagall, come to check on him to make sure he was coming to the meeting of all of the head of houses that Dumbledore had called before the Start of Term Feast. Severus scowled, grumbling to himself, as he put his wand away. He had tried to explain to both McGonagall and Dumbledore that he didn't need mothering but apparently his tirades had fallen on deaf ears. "Yes, Minerva, I'm coming. I was just..."

"Brooding, yes, I know, Severus. Honestly." McGonagall sounded so much like Hermione Granger that Severus couldn't help but chuckle as he stepped out into the hallway and reset the locking charms on the doors to his quarters.

"You sounded just like Granger. Or, maybe, she just sounds a lot like you."

Minerva chuckled herself as they started toward Dumbledore's office. "I think it goes both ways. I'm quite fond of that girl."

Severus sent an appraising glance her way, and allowed himself another small smile. "I know, Minerva. I am too, when it comes down to it."

It took him a few steps before he realized that McGonagall had stopped. Turning to her, the look of sympathy and understanding on her face had his stomach tumbling end over end. Before he could stop her, before he could draw back into himself, she placed a gnarled hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "I know you are. And she would be grateful, if she knew. They all would."

Severus swallowed hard and placed his hand over Minerva's, returning her squeeze, noticing, much as he had with Dumbledore not too long ago, that McGonagall looked weary and so much older than she had. Was this war going to take everything, then? There were few people in his life that Severus let himself care about, and to watch them aging before his eyes was almost more than he could bear. Before he could say anything more, Minerva flashed him a tiny smile and stepped back. "We're going to be late."

Severus nodded and bowed a little, flourishing a fold of his robe. "Ladies first."

McGonagall rolled her eyes, this time in a very Weasley sort of expression, and walked past him and around the corner to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. "Lavender cachet."

He raised an eyebrow and McGonagall shrugged. "Someone gave him some lavender-scented soap."

He snickered and stepped onto the spiraling staircase behind McGonagall. His smile died, however, when McGonagall stepped into Dumbledore's office and Severus came face to face with the woman he had not seen in over fifteen years.

Keelyn was not surprised, though she wished to be, to note that time had been good to Severus Snape. Dressed all in black with his robes billowing a little as he moved, he carried his forty-three years with the grace of some large bird of prey. In fact, he had always looked rather like a hawk, with his tall, spare build, slightly hooked nose, sharp jaw, firm, thin lips and glittering, intelligent black eyes. His black hair hung longer than she remembered, brushing his shoulders. No, time had not dulled the power or pull of Severus Snape, but she had hoped, desperately, that she could see him once more and feel nothing save vague regret. It was that hope that had not prepared her for the low, heavy clenching of her belly nor the stutter of her heart. Something of her despair must have shown on her face or communicated itself through body language, for both Jason and Helias stirred from their identical positions to either side of her. Jason stepped slightly in front of her, blocking Severus's view, while Helias placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She allowed herself to relax, to reach out and touch Jason reassuringly even as her breath wanted to hitch.

Severus watched the exchange with impassive eyes and seething emotions. He had known she would be here, he had, but the knowing and the reality were far removed from one another. To see her, so calm, so dispassionate, reminded him of years long past and emotions better left alone. She was dressed like a Muggle, he noted, in jeans that hung low on generous hips and a buttercream yellow shirt that made her soft golden skin glow, with all of that thick blonde hair bound in a long, severe braid. Deciding it would be best to ignore her for now, he inclined his head to the two gentleman flanking her. "Jason, Helias."

A brief nod was all he got before Keelyn murmured something he didn't quite catch and all three Faeries settled back against the wall.

Once everyone was settled, Dumbledore rose from behind his desk. "All of you have been introduced to both Jason, our new Fencing instructor, and Helias, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, at yesterday's staff meeting. However, I have recruited one more member of Faery to join us this year." Dumbledore paused as Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall turned to look at Keelyn. She didn't stir, nor allow the smile to cross her lips when Severus pointedly refused to look in her direction from his seat by the fire. She had not missed the fact that he'd chosen the chair as far from her as he could get and if part of her was amused, the larger part that she was trying to ignore was hurt.

Dumbledore's throat clearing had the heads of house turning back to him. "Keelyn is not strictly Faery, rather she is in fact the Sidhe of Faery prophecy."

There was a collective gasp, and Keelyn really, really, wanted to be anywhere but here. This was always the reaction she got: surprise, skepticism and finally, the most damning of all, fear. It had been the same as she toured the wizarding communities of the United States and though it no longer stung, it did rankle a bit.

Before anyone could voice their protests or opinions, Dumbledore held up a hand. "Now, now, I know you must all have questions. I think they would best be saved for Keelyn, once I explain why she is here. She has agreed to test some of the students I have chosen from among your different Houses for Faery powers."

There was dead silence this time while Dumbledore allowed them time to absorb his words. Keelyn, on the other hand, felt anger coil through her. So, _he_ would choose whom she could test, would he? She pushed away from the wall upon which she had been leaning indolently and moved so everyone could see her, squaring her shoulders as if for a battle. "I will test all of the students of Hogwarts."

Once again, Keelyn found herself the center of attention, but this time Dumbledore, Jason, Helias and even Severus had added the weight of their stares. She didn't flinch but simply shrugged as she kept her face carefully neutral. "Whatever Blythe and Zane promised you, I am not bound by their word. I will test all of the students, and teach any of them who have the gift if they wish to learn."

When it became clear that even Dumbledore did not know how to respond to her pronouncement, Severus said quietly, "You would give Voldemort new weapons for pride?"

She turned then and met his eyes for the first time, and he felt the weight of her gaze. It had always been her eyes that gave her away, and he was not surprised to find her eyes flaring gold with temper. She had never liked anyone telling her what she could and couldn't do and his own mention of pride would only increase her irritation.

"He does not need my help to give him weapons. He has already darkened Faery's door and, unlike last time he called for war, some of them have heeded his call."

What she didn't mention, what he saw in the hard set of her jaw and the anguish that bled her eyes to pale blue, was that they had gone not because they thought that Voldemort was right or his cause just. They had gone because they feared Keelyn's power. She sighed and the anger seemed to drain out of her as she turned to face only Dumbledore.

"You want me to save Harry Potter so that he might fulfill his own prophecy. I tell you now that my agenda is in line with yours, only I don't want to just save Harry. Faery is dying, Dumbledore. It has been dying for centuries. For a long time, we thought that my coming was enough. It has since become clear to us that we must save you from this evil to save ourselves." She heard the vague note of pleading in her voice and hated it, even as she was gratified when she saw Dumbledore soften. Pressing her advantage, she said, "If they have the gift and the will to learn, they will be more powerful. If it is you and I who offer them more power, rather than Voldemort, perhaps they will join us."

Dumbledore regarded her closely, and she just barely managed to keep from squirming. Finally, he nodded solemnly. "So be it, then, Keelyn. You will test the students in their first session of Defense Against the Dark Arts and any of them that wish to add study with you to their schedule will be allowed to do so."

Keelyn allowed a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding to escape and turned to the still shell-shocked Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall, once more carefully avoiding Severus's eyes. "I know you have questions."

"If any of these children had Faery magic, they would not be here at Hogwarts." It seemed McGonagall had finally found her voice and had the others sitting up straighter, frowning, at her crisp statement.

"That's right. Any children who have Faery and Merlin blood are tested as children, and if they have Faery powers, it's well known that they must be sent to Faery, for they can never wield a wand."

Keelyn nodded to Flitwick. "Certainly that has been the case for longer than anyone can remember, and seems to continue to hold true even now. It's also believed that if a child does not have Faery powers when tested but is proficient with wand magic, they do not have Faery abilities. The same goes for those who are Muggle-born; it's seen as a minor miracle that they can do magic at all, and impossible that they might have Faery magic. So you're asking yourselves, why would I bother to test any of these children?"

There was nodding and an uplifted eyebrow from Severus. Keelyn held out her hands, palm up, and said softly, "Because I am Sidhe, not Faery, and I can call forth Faery abilities, if they exist, in both wand users and Muggle-borns alike."

"That's not possible." Sprout's voice was final. Keelyn barely suppressed the urge to tug on the end of her braid, a nervous habit that always served to remind her that her skill was with magic and blade, not people.

"It is possible. I have seen her do it. Many of you noticed that I seemed unavailable for much of the summer. It's mostly because I was speaking with the Faeries, securing this treaty, but when I heard of Keelyn's ability, I went for a visit across the pond to the U.S., where Keelyn was testing this ability among their magical population. I saw her perform the ritual and watched as, seconds later, the young Muggle-born wizard set a a tree on fire." Severus nearly chuckled when Dumbledore paused for dramatic effect, but stifled it when he caught a raised eyebrow from Keelyn. "Without the aid of his wand."

There was another collective gasp, and Keelyn rolled her eyes in Severus's direction before she could stop herself. She was gratified when he looked startled and then faintly amused, but she was determined to ignore the little curl of pleasure in her belly. Once more holding out her hands in a gesture of innocence, Keelyn murmured, "You will want to know more about this ritual, but I must ask for your forbearance. It can be a very traumatic experience for some of the young people, and I have faith that if they wish to share it with you, they will seek you out. Otherwise, I will keep their privacy, and my own."

That seemed to be some sort of signal that the meeting was over, for Jason and Helias stepped away from the wall. "Again, I just must ask you to trust me, and I know that's difficult. I will be in my chambers for the rest of the evening if any of you wish to seek me out after the Start of Term feast. Jason, Helias, stay, have dinner. I just need some rest."

Some small part of her was thrilled when she felt Severus's eyes follow her out of the room. Perhaps Wendall had been wrong to think coming to Hogwarts would be hard on her heart, because for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, Keelyn was feeling something other than weariness, even if it had to be a man she dared not love again who had stirred her emotions.

"Never," she whispered to herself fiercely as she strode down the halls of Hogwarts, her steps echoing strangely, comforting her. "Never again. The price is always too high."

Severus would have recognized the desperation in her voice and echoed it. And perhaps been surprised to find that his heart, too, beat once more for something other than pride and duty.

* * *

On this, the first day of his last school year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was thinking of nothing but the softness of Ginny Weasley's skin under his hands and the plea for understanding in her soft doe eyes. Lifting himself away from her reluctantly, Harry tugged her up into a sitting position with him. She trembled a little as he began to do up the buttons of her Oxford shirt, his fingers brushing lightly against her breasts with every button that slid home. He tried to hide a little smile at her reaction, but groaned himself when her pale hands slid up around his neck and she nuzzled her mouth against his. "Ginny."

She giggled and repeated the maddening caress of her lips to his before sitting back and brushing his hands away to finish the buttoning-up herself. "Just because I asked you to stop doesn't mean I don't want you, Harry. It just means I don't want to lost my virginity on the Hogwarts Express."

A wave of guilt washed through him and Harry sighed, reaching out to tuck a lock of her fiery red hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I always seem to get a little carried away when we're alone, don't I?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Harry. Don't feel guilty, please. If I hadn't wanted your hands on me, I wouldn't have snuck away from the Prefect's meeting, now would I?"

Harry chuckled and chucked her under the chin before sprawling back into his seat, stretching his long legs out onto the empty seat across from him. He had to admit that having Ginny Weasley as his girlfriend was certainly making this year look a little more rosy than the last few. He had been first shocked when she'd just walked right up to him over the summer and said, "I think you should kiss me so we can decide once and for all what's going on with us." However, once he had kissed her, he couldn't regret it, and they'd spent the summer exploring their feelings, and each other, like normal teenagers. That the war seemed to inch ever closer had only made their time together the sweeter.

Ginny could tell that thoughts of war had intruded on their privacy as soon as Harry's face settled into hard lines and the pleasure in his eyes was dimmed by pain. Stifling a sigh, she leaned against his side and slid her arm around his waist, settling her cheek on his chest over his heart. She was heartened when he immediately curled one arm around her shoulders and began to stroke her back. It was a sign of how far they had come when she felt his muscles relax under her cheek and the beating of his heart slow. "I wonder who Dumbledore managed to rope into the Dark Arts position this year?"

"I hear that no one knows except Dumbledore and maybe Snape."

Both Harry and Ginny glanced up as Ron and Hermione, new Head Boy and Girl of Gryffindor, stepped into the compartment. It was Hermione who had answered, but it was the goofy grin on Ron's face and the already-purpling mark barely visible in the open collar of Hermione's shirt that had Ginny turning her head into Harry's chest to hide a knowing grin. Harry dipped his head and murmured, "You have one, too, Ginny, so no snickering. It just happens I put my mark lower on your chest than Ron did on Hermione's."

It was Ron who snickered this time when Ginny's face flamed and she socked Harry on the shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved Harry's feet out of the seat, tugging Ron down to sit next to her. Harry watched with amusement and affection as Ron promptly picked up petite Hermione and then settled her in his lap. To Harry's surprise, Hermione just smiled and leaned her head against Ron's chest, rubbing against him like a kitten being stroked. Ron grinned over her head at Harry and glanced meaningfully down at Ginny, who had buried her hot face into the curve of Harry's neck. Harry shrugged and both young men laughed.

"So the new Dark Arts professor is a big mystery, huh? What's new about that, really, considering last year?"

"Well, the fact that we'll actually have a Dark Arts professor, I guess."

There was silence in the train car for a bit as Harry watched the world flash by outside the train window, Ginny drowsed, and Ron and Hermione whispered to each other. Harry wondered idly if the new Dark Arts professor would be as useless as Umbridge had been, and whether he would still have to practice Occlumency with Snape since he had managed to master it, finally, last year. Surprisingly enough, Snape had actually bent enough to make the lessons bearable, if they had never been actually pleasant. "So much to do, so little time left," Harry murmured softly, glancing down at a sleeping Ginny with a sigh, the prophecy suddenly weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"But so many things to be thankful for, mate." Harry glanced up to watch as Ron snuggled a now-sleeping Hermione closer before meeting his glance.

Harry's arms tightened around Ginny and he nodded, the weight easing a bit as Ron offered to share it. It had been a hard, painful lesson learned, but Harry had finally come to accept that he needed Ron, Hermione and Ginny to keep from going mad. "Yes, so many things to be thankful for."

Neither young man broke eye contact as the Hogwarts Express began to slowly chug to a stop.


	5. Chapter Four: Dreaming of Swords

_At seventeen, on the cusp between woman and child, she had no concept of time, no need for discipline, only the wide-open sky, the soft grass beneath her and the promise of power at her fingertips. She did know what she was to Faery, she did, but it was a nebulous concept that she both couldn't and didn't care to grasp. Amusing herself because it was her way, she lifted her hand and watched as dark clouds skidded to cover the sun. A single drop of rain fell on her pouting mouth and she giggled, softly, until a shadow that had nothing to do with her power fell over her. She considered rising to her feet, but instead simply watched him settle next to her, her eyes wide, curious and a little afraid._

_He had come to Faery only a few weeks ago, dark, brooding and so lonely. Maybe because she knew loneliness, or because she saw him watching her with something like interest in his glittering black eyes, Keelyn found herself fascinated by him. They had not been introduced, and that he had sought her out had Keelyn's belly clenching in fear and excitement and desire. He didn't say anything, simply watched her face, and since silence was something Keelyn enjoyed, she didn't object. Raising her hands once more, she sent lightning crackling across the serenely blue sky, striving to impress him. He didn't smile, only continued to watch her narrowly, his face grim, and Keelyn felt suddenly young and foolish. The silence between them lengthened; she thought of asking him if he was afraid she was going to bite, but thought that might be cheeky. He didn't look as if would tolerate cheekiness. _

_"Your Queen tells me that if I wish to learn the blade, I should speak to you."_

_His voice startled her, and nearly caused her to call down the rain. Calming the now-boiling clouds with an absent wave of her hand, Keelyn rolled to a sitting position, arms around her knees. "You didn't come to the Unseelie Court to learn to fight with a sword. You came to forget."_

_It was meant as an innocent observation, but the surprise that chased across his sharp features had her smiling a little. "Mr. Snape, I may be young, but I've seen that look on many of the faces who darken Blythe's door. The clash of steel against steel will not soothe your demons."_

_"And what would you know of demons, little girl?" He meant to remind her of the decade that separated them, to make her feel her lack of experience, but she only sighed softly and reached out to him with one small hand. She ignored his start of surprise and her own trembling as she touched the shoulder of his robes._

_"We all have demons, Mr. Snape."_

_His eyebrows winged high, and his face took on a sneering, forbidding quality; his voice had gone icy. "If you are so knowledgeable, then, tell me what I need."_

_Her answer surprised both of them. "Me."_

_She saw he wanted to laugh her suggestion away, wanted to deny the pull that had him leaning almost imperceptibly closer. Before he could follow the inlcination to retreat she saw brewing in his eyes, she used her hand on his robes to tug him closer as she leaned forward. She was trembling in earnest now and vaguely aware that he had gone as still as stone. She pressed her lips to his, softly, a little awkwardly, for she was new to seduction, and a little afraid of him. She wasn't sure what she had expected him to do, but the sigh that caressed her mouth seconds before he fisted his hands in her hair and slanted his mouth firmly over hers felt something like relief._

_Kissing him was like stepping into some dark, secret, wicked place, like flying, like falling, like fear and exhilaration all wrapped up together and she wondered vaguely, wildly, if he had bespelled her. Holding her still with his hands in her hair, he rubbed his lips back and forth, back and forth, maddeningly, teasing her with the promise of more. When she whimpered, he chuckled, a deep, heavy sound that settled low in Keelyn's belly, clenching muscles there and lower down. Craving more, she parted her lips and darted out her tongue, touching the curve of his upper lip tentatively. Taking heart when he made a low sound of approval in his throat, she pressed the tip of her tongue into the corner of his mouth, then dragged it across the seam of his lips. Desire exploded in her belly when he growled and hauled her into his lap, fitting her curves against him as he nipped at her lips. Gasping in startled pleasure, she slid her own hands up into his close-cropped black hair and leaned in closer. Taking her silent invitation, his tongue swept into her mouth, seeking her own. Following instinct and need, she scraped her teeth gently along his tongue and then sucked lightly at the tip. She whimpered again when he moaned and moved against him, seeking more, seeking something she couldn't name, her bottom pressing against him intimately._

_Suddenly and without warning, he shoved her roughly away and rose to his feet. He meant to intimidate her, to scare her, as he glared down at her, but Keelyn felt only satisfaction to see his chest heaving and his black eyes slightly unfocused with shock and pleasure. Even his lips were sheened lightly with moisture and, curious, she lifted a hand to her own mouth, exploring their slightly swollen contours in wonder. Something about her expression must have softened him, for he smiled, suddenly, an almost sinister curve of his mobile mouth, and said, "I will expect my first lesson in the blade tomorrow, Keelyn."_

_"Mr. Snape?" Her voice sounded very small and very fragile._

_He bent down briefly, brushing a lock of honey colored hair from her confused face. "I think, now that you've kissed me, you should call me Severus."_

Keelyn woke with the memory of his name on her lips.

* * *

"I cannot understand how they think any of us could add even one new elective to our schedules with N.E.W.T.s coming up." Hermione's voice managed to somehow be exasperated and prim all at the same time, and Ron and Harry shared an amused look over her head. Some things might change with the war, but trust Hermione to worry about school first.

"How can they expect us to study for N.E.W.T.s if they're offering us more choices? I mean, honestly."

"Exactly! I swear, sometimes I'm positive that...you're teasing me. Dammit Ron!" Harry muffled a snicker as Hermione smacked her boyfriend on the shoulder and Ron managed to look hurt.

"I was only agreeing with you, Hermione." Hermione just huffed and went back to her breakfast, while Harry and Ron broke into laughter.

"Don't tease Hermione about school, Ron. She doesn't tease you about Quidditch. And, before you say it, remember I love Quidditch as much as you and Harry, so no smart comments about me just taking Hermione's side 'cuz I'm a girl." This time it was only Harry laughing as Ron muttered something unintelligible and glared at his sister before shoveling a huge bite of oatmeal into his mouth.

Harry took a minute to just bask in the normalcy of Ron teasing, Hermione exasperated and Ginny amused. He wished, sometimes, that he could suspend moments like these in some sort of time-turner, so that he could go visit them when all that he was came crashing down on his head. The Start of Term Feast was a prime example of a time Harry would have made use of such a device. Harry had known something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the Great Hall: there were too many empty seats, too many solemn faces, not enough noise and laughter and cheer. Then the Sorting, with only a handful of First Years, had spread whispers that it was the smallest class in almost one hundred years. And then there had been the two new professors, strange men, both, and Dumbledore's mention of another, a woman.

Turning, Harry scanned the Head Table, finding only the two men. He studied them once more; one tall and wand-thin, with shoulder-length hair the color of aged mahogany and a pale, pointed face, who had been introduced as Professor Helias, the new Dark Arts teacher, and the other, shorter, more wiry, with a smoothly shaven head and a vaguely Asian face, who had been introduced as simply Jason, who would be teaching a new, as-yet-unnamed elective. Something about the two men seemed ... alien to Harry. Perhaps it was something in the almost feline grace with which they moved, or the almost otherworldly calm they both exuded; whatever it was, it made Harry uneasy.

"Hey, look, is that the new female professor Dumbledore was talking about last night? And Merlin, is that a _sword_ she's carrying?"

Harry's head whipped around to the front doors, noting almost absently that while he had been staring at the Head Table, most of the Fourth Years and below, as well as all of the professors save Dumbledore, Jason, Helias, and the four Heads of House, had already left for their morning classes. Dumbledore had announced last night that while the woman would be offering a new class to all of the Hogwarts students, the new elective Jason would be teaching would be only offered to Fifth Years and above. Surprisingly, he'd added that instead of attending their first period classes, all students eligible for the elective would be asked to remain in the Great Hall for a demonstration. Now, as Harry and the rest of the Great Hall watched, a small blonde woman, wearing Muggle jeans and a t-shirt, came gliding in, pausing for dramatic effect before the Head Table. As everyone watched, she inclined her head and pressed the flat of her blade to her forehead in a sort of salute. When she spoke, it was in some sort of flat, drawling accent that Harry didn't recognize.

"Jason. I am here. I await your convenience."

Dumbledore clapped his hands once as he stood. "Students, I ask that you remain calm as the professors and I make room for Professors Jason and Keelyn."

Harry managed only to share a look with Ron before they found themselves sitting at desks in an amphitheater-style room.

"A better warning would have been nice," Ginny muttered, and Harry grinned over at her before looking down to where Keelyn stood, still alone save a wooden table shoved out of the way against the back wall. Suddenly, she raised her sword high and murmured, "_Lann Máistir_."

It was apparently some sort of signal because, suddenly, Jason was there before her, holding his own long, slender blade, one he had not appeared to have all during breakfast. There were gasps, and Jason turned to the crowd, a reassuring smile on his face, his voice booming out, low and deep. "Fear not, for this is Keelyn, a Mistress of the Blade whose skill is matched only by mine in the wielding. She has graciously agreed to help me demonstrate your new elective."

Something about Jason's little speech amused the woman, for she chuckled, a soft, low sound, and turned to the face the students as well, eyes crinkled in the corners by a smile. Harry saw Snape, who was sitting not too far in front of him, tense suddenly. Harry wondered at the Potion Master's reaction but her voice rang out, clear and sweet, calling his attention once more. "Jason exaggerates both his skill and my agreement." There were titters and Keelyn winked before turning back to Jason. "Explanation or demonstration first, Blademaster?"

His eyes narrowing, Jason turned on her, blade held ready, and said, "Show them."

It was intense. They seemed to move fluidly, without wasted motion, spinning, thrusting, parrying. Steel rang against steel and echoed, met only by occasional gasps and surprised yelps from students as a sword slashed close to a combatant. Keelyn and Jason, however, fought silently and, to Harry's mind at least, surprisingly similarly. Though she was quicker, her blade moving at a blur, he fought with the same sort of lazy grace as she, and neither appeared to tire. Suddenly, and without warning, Jason's blade went spinning across the floor, and he looked just as startled as she when the edge of her blade paused at his throat. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment, before Jason dropped to a knee and said, "It is done."

Under cover of the thunderous applause that rang out, Keelyn leaned into Jason and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...!" She was horrified, really, mainly because for a second, as she met Jason's blade, she saw another face and remembered another fight, where injured female pride had moulded her into a poor teacher for one new to the blade. When she'd disarmed Jason, she'd felt an old triumph and only the applause had brought her back to herself.

He chuckled and squeezed her arm gently, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement and memory. "I know you weren't thinking of me; I remember your first lesson with Snape, as well as you do. However, I think you might have scared most of your students."

She laughed herself, albeit weakly, and went to retrieve his blade as he rose to his feet and turned once more to the crowd. "I know you are busy with Quidditch and tests and the thousand things that make up your school year. However, if anything about my battle with Keelyn interests you, I would highly recommend you add my class to that list of thousand things. Don't misunderstand me; it would take years of study for any of you to fight half so well as Keelyn, and you will certainly not be receiving your first blade until the end of this term." There were groans, mostly from the boys. Jason laughed and held up a hand as he began to walk over to the small wooden table near the back wall. "Now, now, don't despair. Look at it this way: even if you never wield a weapon as wonderfully well as Keelyn, time you spend in my class will teach you balance, grace, agility..."

"And timing." From out of nowhere, a small, tapered blade without any handle thunked into the table very near Jason's hands. The crowd turned to Keelyn as one to find her laughing. She shrugged. "Hey, you should remember I always carry at least one throwing dagger concealed somewhere on my person."

Jason just shook his head before pulling out the table and taking a seat behind it. A parchment appeared somehow before him. "First, before I forget, please never call me Professor anything. I'm just Jason or, if you want to be technical, you may call me Blademaster. Second, as you will all note, a parchment and quill have just appeared before you." There were more gasps as everyone looked down at their desks.

"Wicked," Ron murmured. Harry had to agree.

"If you are interested in my class, simply write your name on the parchment before you with the quill provided. That will give me all of the information I need to create a class list. For those of you not interested, simply tap your parchment with your quill and you will find your class schedule will appear. If you do asked to be put in my class, please wait patiently until everyone is done writing and then you'll find your parchment does the same." Excited murmurs ran through the Hall, and Harry immediately snatched up his quill and, with mounting excitement, dashed his name across his parchment. He heard Ron and Ginny do the same, then glanced over to Hermione, who was eying Keelyn with something like envy. Finally, she put quill to paper and jotted down her name, almost as if afraid if she didn't write quickly, she'd change her mind. Harry glanced back down with a grin just in time to see his new class schedule write itself out on his paper. To his joy, he found he had Jason's class first thing after the assembly, what would normally be second period. He looked to Ron.

"I've got it first thing today, you?"

Ron nodded, his face vaguely flushed with excitement. "Yeah, what about you Hermione-love?" he asked.

She nodded, as well, still looking unsure about her decision to sign up for the class. All three turned to Ginny, however, when she muttered darkly, "I have to wait until tomorrow, and then until after lunch. Instead, I have Defense Against the Dark Arts next."

Harry tried not to chuckle as Ginny's mouth went sulky. Instead, he reached over and squeezed her hand. "I promise to tell you all about it at lunch, and you can tell me if Professor Helias is as good as Lupin at Dark Arts."

Before she could reply, Jason rose once more. "Okay, everyone, the Headmaster asks that you all proceed in a quiet and orderly fashion to your next class. If you're one of my lucky students, go ahead and just stay here."

Harry leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Ginny's still-pouty mouth and squeezed her hand. "What do you have before lunch? I'll meet you there and walk you to the Great Hall."

"Potions. Ick. Don't come all the way down, I'll just meet you at the table." She kissed him, this time, which had his heart doing a quick tap-dance, before leaning around him to wave at Ron and Hermione. Harry watched her walk away, her slim hips swishing, and suddenly smiled, thinking this was another of those times he'd like to keep forever.


	6. Chapter Five: The Lost

Keelyn hated feeling nervous. It was a rare thing for her, as her rank and power among the Faery had kept her fairly well-insulated for most of her adult life. Only during her travels in America, when it had been necessary that she address groups of young people with words rather than by a simple demonstration of skill with sword, wand or magic, had Keelyn discovered the feeling of dragons doing a sort of shuffle-stomp dance in her stomach. Now, watching a class of Gryffindor Sixth Years trickle into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Keelyn had to fight down the urge to be sick: all of the students save one slender redheaded female were watching her as if she might take a bite out of them at any moment. Sighing, she realized that after her display with the sword in the amphitheater, she was going to have to change her strategy a bit. As she settled a hip onto the edge of the professor's desk, she reached for a long, heavy, carved-ivory box lying among the several other magical implements scattered across the pitted, scarred surface. Pressing the latch concealed in the stinger of a stylized scorpion, Keelyn felt a familiar rush of bittersweet nostalgia. While living among the Fae was a pleasure and a duty, Keelyn had never forgotten the first sweet rush of holding her wand in her hand. She'd been only eleven and sure that her life would forever consist of nothing more than her parents' sprawling white farmhouse and the rocky soil of Southern Missouri when her letter from the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry had arrived; two months later, she was holding her first, and only, wand. Even now, thousands of miles and several years distant from her beginnings as the child of Muggles in the United States, Keelyn held her breath as she brought the wand from its case and swished it once. Taking comfort in the familiarity, Keelyn finally lifted her eyes to the class to find that they had all gone silent and still.

Using a little Faery glamour to make her voice soothe, Keelyn swished her wand toward the blackboard. Immediately, the word 'Faery' appeared, written in broad, swirling strokes. "Who can tell me what this word signifies?"

Only one hand went into the air. The graceful young redhead with pale milky skin and wary brown eyes didn't even wait to be called upon. "Faery is a place of legend and dreams and magic. Faery created Merlin, who is the father of the line of wizards and witches. However, Faery magic is tied not to wands but to the power of four."

"Very good. I'm impressed, Ms..."

"Weasley. Ginny."

"Do you know anything else about Faery, Ms. Weasley?"

"Faery is dying. They believe, however, that there will be a savior, a woman."

"You know, then, of the prophecy of the Sidhe." When the redhead simply nodded, Keelyn set aside her wand and folded her hands in her lap. "Tell me what the Sidhe can do, Ms. Weasley."

"She will be able to both harness and control the power of four." The girl, Ginny, paused, and something in her eyes, some knowledge, had Keelyn's inner sense going on alert. There was the promise of power here, and the other students seemed to recognize it, for there was a sense of waiting in the air. "Not only that, but she will be the child of Muggles and be capable of wielding a wand."

Her eyes still on Ginny, Keelyn turned her palms over and called the wind, even as a small ball of flame flared to life at her fingertips and raindrops begin to fall from the ceiling. Gasps of fear and surprise ran through the classroom; only Ginny remained calm and watchful. Ginny's eyes, still full of secrets, went wide and joyful and amazed as the floor suddenly tumbled beneath the desks, gentle shockwaves, causing most of the students to scramble to the far wall, where Helias waited with soothing words and gentle touches. It was only Ginny who murmured, "You have come, then."

Keelyn reached out and laid one of her hands over Ginny's and squeezed. Her power had met and recognized Ginny's, a rare thing, and Keelyn felt her nervousness disintegrate. If even only this one girl had that sort of Faery power, it would be enough. "I have, and I will teach you." She raised her voice and her eyes to the back of the room. "There is no need to fear me. I am Keelyn. I am a child of Arthur, a child of Merlin, a child of Faery, and the Sidhe of prophecy. Some of you have Faery gifts. I have come to find them, and to teach you to wield them, if that is your wish. I will ask that all of you allow me to test you. If, afterward, you are unwilling to learn, I will cast a Memory Charm on you, and you will not remember the ritual." Dropping her eyes once more to Ginny's, she said quietly, "If you wish, I will test you first."

The graceful, long-fingered hand beneath Keelyn's own trembled, but Ginny's voice and eyes were firm. "I would like that. Keelyn."

"Helias, you will explain while I take Ginny across the hall?" When he nodded and began to herd the other students back to their desks, Keelyn gathered up what few things she would need and motioned for Ginny to follow her.

The room they entered was furnished simply, with two plain wooden chairs and a plain wooden table, upon which rested a shallow silver platter, its surface smooth and unmarked, the color matte and lifeless. "Please, Ginny, sit. Would you feel better if I explained what is about to happen or simply proceeded?"

"I want to be brave and ask you to simply go ahead, but the truth is I'm a bit nervous." Ginny's smile was apologetic, and Keelyn nodded as she took her own seat.

"That's to be expected. I'm a little nervous, too. You are the first non Faery whose power has called to mine without patience and practice."

"What does that mean?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure." It was Keelyn's turn to offer an apologetic glance when Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, I wish I could pretend I know everything. The truth is, I discovered my ability to call Faery power from Merlin's line quite by accident. To find that my power can call yours without benefit of the ritual, well, it's much like an unexpected visitor: exciting but troublesome."

"Wait. What do you mean 'your power called mine'?"

"It was you who caused the earth to shift, Ginny."

Keelyn had expected shock, surprise, even outright denial. The first recognition for power for anyone, but most especially for those not raised in Faery, was usually both traumatic and difficult to explain. She was not prepared, then, for Ginny's eyes to go bright and glassy with wonder and acceptance, or the breathy whisper, "Me. I did that." Before Keelyn could reply, Ginny's face went eager and determined. "Show me how to do it again."

Keelyn chuckled to cover a sudden, overwhelming need to gather Ginny close. Watching the young girl, her face bright and eager with promise and not so much younger than Keelyn had been, once, was an ache. Keelyn wanted to warn her, wanted to explain that this moment would never come again. Instead, she only said indulgently, "Ah, the wonder of first power. Let's see, first, just how deep the well goes before we have a celebration, hmmm?"

Ginny, for all of her youth, understood the wistful look on the woman's face. Sometimes, when Harry was busy with saving the world, Ginny mourned her own lost innocence, tossed carelessly to a handsome Prefect from the past. However, because she recognized that Keelyn would not take kindly to her interference, she simply nodded. "Show me."

* * *

The day had been oddly exhausting for Severus. He had found no joy in sneering at his students, and even less in hearing the excited chatter about the swordfight at mealtimes and in the hallways. That many of the students seemed more in awe of Keelyn than Jason was no surprise; his own mixed emotions were. Certainly she still fought well, and he could not slight her skill or her natural talent. However, watching her meet Jason blade to blade had only stirred more painful memories. Now, long after the rest of Hogwarts had gone to bed, sitting before a roaring fire, a book forgotten in his lap, Severus watched the flames dance and wished the past wasn't quite so near at hand.

He had been fascinated by her quicksilver movements and disciplined grace, by the way her curved body moved at one with the blade, never faltering, never wavering. Her teaching style was to simply make him meet her, time and again, blade to blade, to make him learn by losing. He had been surprised to find his pride unscored by her inherent talent, considering pride was one of many of his besetting sins. Perhaps it had been the way her changeable eyes danced with humor and challenge as her blade struck his, or the way she sometimes would pause and say crisply, "You're improving, Severus" just before she sent his blade flying. Whatever it was, he neglected the other pleasures of the Unseelie Court for her, and found himself forgetting for long stretches of time that, outside of Faery, he was one of the lost, and would one day be forced to return to face the choices he had made.

As recollection slipped into memory for Severus, somewhere else in a quiet Hogwarts chamber lit by moonlight, Keelyn stood at the window and unconsciously reached out to him. Without warning, she found herself helpless to the onslaught of the past, her own memories tangled inextricably with his.

_"Severus." Her voice was soft, hesitant, and her eyes a pale, pale green when she opened the door to his knock. He hadn't meant to stop at her door, had even told himself that he had forgotten which one it was. After all, though she had been the one to give him that first sweet taste of her lips, nothing in her manner in the following days had given him reason to believe that she had meant what she had said about losing himself in her. Now, feeling both foolish and lecherous as he gazed down at her, Severus simply had nothing to say. What did one say, after all, when what you needed couldn't be expressed in words?_

_She regarded him silently for long moments, her small hand white-knuckled on the doorframe. Part of her, the Keelyn who remembered dreaming of handsome dark knights and who now loved without a thought past Severus's dark, haunted eyes, wished fervently that he had finally, finally come to her. Another part, the creature of legend that belonged forever to Faery, knew it was folly to pursue the attraction between them when he did not, could not, truly know her. Then, to his astonishment and perhaps her own, she stepped back from the door and said quietly, "I was hoping you would finally see reason."_

_It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, for he drew himself up to his full height, a good foot taller than she, and said carefully, "I only came to beg off from tomorrow's lesson."_

_She chuckled, a soft, sibilant sound that shivered down Severus's spine and had his gut clenching. "And now you want to say that you are leaving the Unseelie Court, that you have found what you seek. You would lie to me and yourself, when I am offering what we both want." Using what limited power she knew she possessed in the art of seduction, she bid her eyes to swirl to deepest emerald, shot through with gold, as she stepped forward, into him, fitting her softness to the planes and angles of his thin, rangy body. "You want to believe me innocent and unwary, and believe that because you are older and more experienced, you should turn me away."_

_While it was what she believed, it was not quite the truth. It was not her innocence so much as his own darkness that frightened Severus. He did not want to taint her. It did not occur to him that she had her own darkness, her own secrets, and because he wanted desperately to believe that he coveted her because she was the opposite of himself, he did not ask the right questions. When he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, when he gathered her slight form up against him and shoved the door closed behind them with his foot, he thought only that she tasted of sunshine and honey, and that for a while, he would not remember he had been in Godric's Hollow the night James and Lily Potter died._

_At the first touch of his lips, Keelyn was lost, knew it, and reveled in it._

_Severus, on the other hand. meant to take it slow, to ease her into passion, and he was amazed at his own languorous pleasure in the initiation. Whatever his failings with females in his Hogwarts days, Severus had long since discovered the pleasures to be had with them, and what little time he hadn't been studying at university or devoting to Voldemort had been spent pursuing such leisure activities; therefore, he was certainly not unschooled in the ways of pleasing his partner. At first, he only let his hands wander soothingly up and down the petite line of her back as his mouth teased and coaxed at hers. Keelyn shivered as his tongue glided across her lower lip before he tugged it into his mouth with his teeth, gently worrying then soothing it with his tongue. Her top lip was granted the same treatment, the achingly slow glide of the tongue, the slight suction as it was pulled in so that he could tease it with his teeth. Keelyn's breath eased out on a long, heavy sigh as her arms slid around his waist, angling her body to fit into the planes and angles of his. Her reward was another smooth glide of his tongue across her lips and a teasing set of butterfly kisses to the corners of her mouth that had her moaning softly in the back of her throat and straining up on tiptoe to get closer. Understanding her plea, Severus slanted his mouth fully over hers and, using her head for leverage, he kissed her fully for less than a second, his tongue playing delightfully with hers before retreating. Keelyn made a frustrated little sound in the back of her throat and surged against him. Smiling a little in triumph, he used his hips to press her gently back into the door, lifting his head to watch her face as he rocked against her, his need for her blatantly obvious against the softness of her stomach. When she raised her own heart-shaped face to his, he nearly came undone_

_The first thing he noted were her lips. They were swollen, wet, and faintly red from the pressure of his mouth. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her breath already coming in tiny spurts, and her eyes... He felt the shudder wind its way down his back and settle low in his groin, even as his heart stuttered. Keelyn had changeling eyes. It was was one of the things that attracted him to her, that ability of hers to make her eyes pinwheel from color to color like a kaleidoscope. However, when she lifted her eyes to his face, they had gone to their natural, sleek gray, full of longing, desire and some softer, unnameable emotion. For the first time in his life, Severus teetered on the edge of some great epiphany of emotion. His eyes still on hers, his heart beating much too fast with something more than just lust, he slid a hand down to cup the sleekness of her outer thigh, lifting it, and her, up. He watched as her mouth opened on a soundless gasp, her pupils dilating to almost fill the whole of her eyes, as the contact brought her softness into sudden, shocking contact with his erection._

_She knew the basic mechanics of sex, of course she did; one did not grow up among the hedonists of Faery without learning some things. And she wanted him, certainly. Every soft brush of his hands, every taste of his lips only made her center tighten and burn. However, to feel him, hot and hard and ready, even through the material of his robes and her own nightdress, against her, was enough to send a small frisson of alarm up her back. Somehow, he sensed her fear and, before it could fully form, he pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat and slowly, carefully, licked. Keelyn was sure she felt the decadent glide of his tongue on her flesh in much more secret places, and her fear dissolved in a sudden rush of carnal delight. Lifting her arms around his neck, she rolled her hips sensually against him, only to feel her nipple peak at the rough, low sound he made. _

_"Keelyn, I want to be patient with you but if you keep me moving against me like that..."_

_She chuckled and trailed a fingertip across the back of his neck, her smile widening as his eyes darkened to the color of polished onyx. A pulse beat a slightly accelerated tattoo in the hollow of his neck and she delighted in the fact that the mouth that could so cruelly sneer was slightly wet from where her own tongue had tasted, briefly, before he had pulled away. "I don't want you to go slow." Rising up onto tiptoe so that her lips were pressed to the sensitive skin below his ear, she whispered, "I don't want you to be careful with me, Severus." She grinned when he shuddered, and took the time to lick the hollow of his shoulder, one slow, wet glide of her tongue that had him groaning. "Severus. Be with me."_

_After that, there could be no turning back. Both of them could only be grateful as his robes and her nightdress seemed to melt away. Perhaps he used magic; perhaps she did. Whatever the case, the slide of flesh to flesh was almost more than either of them could bear. Lost and unembarrassed in the moment, she took the time to savor the paleness of his skin, the long, lean line of his sprinter's body, the way he sucked in a harsh breath when her small fingers trailed down his flat stomach and then curled around the evidence of his desire for her. He took the time to find each of her hidden pleasure spots - the back of her knee, the bend of her elbow, the hollow of her neck. When at last his mouth closed over one dusky rose nipple and his fingertips grazed lightly between her thighs, they were both trembling. She was wet and so warm, Severus felt like he was drowning even as he took her to the edge of madness and then felt her fall._

_When finally she calmed, her eyes huge and dark in her heart-shaped face, Severus gently framed her face in his hands and murmured, "Keelyn."_

_She saw it, then, that he loved her, and her heart ached with the knowledge that he loved someone she was not. She had opened her mouth to tell him, to warn him, but then his mouth covered hers and she tasted herself and his desire. Wanting him, loving him, too, with the same sort of blind desperation, she surrendered._

_He maneuvered them to the bed, pressing her gently back before he settled his weight into the cradle of her thighs. The earlier fear returned, a small echo, as she felt the hot, hard tip of him probing her softness. "Is it...will it hurt?"_

_Severus, full of a tenderness he didn't know he possessed, gently pressed her hair back from her forehead. "A little. If you want to stop..."_

_She shook her head and boldly slid her hands down his back, grasping his hips and lifting herself. He hissed out a breath as her body, tight and hot, resisted just a bit before welcoming part of him in. She squirmed with the unexpected feeling of being stretched and he groaned, hands fisting in her hair as he fought for control over his body. "Keelyn, for Merlin's sake!"_

_Before she could even think to reply, his hand was there, between them, gently parting, softly stroking even as he pressed forward. She gasped as pleasure and pain mingled, briefly, and then he was inside of her and it felt more than good, it felt wondrous. He set a slow, steady pace at first, his fingers clever, his mouth more so against hers as they searched to find a rhythm. Then, it found them, and gentle touches became rougher, soft sighs turned to breathless moans and whispered words of encouragement turned to harsh growls of approval. Suddenly, her body contracted harshly around him, tight as a glove, and he groaned, his head dropping into the curve of her shoulder as he pumped once, twice, thrice more and then spilled himself deep inside of her._

_Afterward, Severus did something he had never done with a woman: he stayed. Long into the night, he held Keelyn and hoped her light would be enough to counter his darkness._

_As for Keelyn, she let herself pretend, as she woke him deep into the night with inquisitive hands and a talented mouth, that he would continue to love her long after he had discovered that she had long ago left true innocence behind._

Now, seventeen years and a world of self-forgiveness later, as Severus set his book aside and doused the fire, ignoring the physical and emotional ache the shared memory had conjured, he wondered if life for them could have been different if he hadn't been so blind and she hadn't been so stubborn. If he had been anyone other than who he was, would he have realized then that she would never fit on the pedestal he had made for her?

As for Keelyn, she lay her burning cheek against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes on a painful, shuddering breath. She wished desperately that she and Severus had not been so caught up in their own personal hells that long-ago summer, and that even now, she could view herself as more than simply lost. And so lonely, her heart ached with it.


	7. Chapter Six: Blood of the Ancients

_"Iongar."_

The word was softly spoken yet seemed to echo, endlessly, a word from a forgotten tongue, alien and a little frightening, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that she was bleeding. The shallow silver platter was slowly filling, drop by crimson drop, with her essence. Horrified, she lifted wide golden eyes to find that she was not the only one. A long gash, identical in shape, size and placement to the one gracing Hermione's palm, was slowly leaking Keelyn's blood into the receptacle. _Ginny didn't say anything about blood_, Hermione thought foolishly to herself, her breath beginning to come in shallow, worried pants. The blood-letting seemed endless, and only the serenity in Keelyn's swirling blue eyes managed to soothe Hermione a bit.

Keelyn knew that Hermione was getting anxious. She had little sympathy, however, for a girl who had declared quite calmly at Keelyn's earlier display of power, "That doesn't prove anything except you can use your wand without holding it." Only the fact that the girl had both looked very intrigued and had consented eagerly to being tested kept Keelyn from snapping at her. That, and the fact that she had spent another sleepless night, dreaming of the first time Severus had lain his cool, pale hands on her skin. Slamming the window viciously closed on that memory, she echoed Hermione's sigh of relief as the bleeding began to slow and then finally stopped. She even felt a little amused when Hermione watched in awe as the slash on her palm closed and then disappeared without a trace.

"All right, now comes the disgusting part, Hermione. I need you to dip your left forefinger into the mingled blood, then trace it over your forehead and lips. You don't have to taste it, thought sometimes it makes the visions clearer for me." Keelyn laughed when Hermione's round, girl-next-door-pretty face screwed up in mingled disgust and worry. "I know you're worried about diseases and things, so like I said, you don't have to taste it."

Something of her amusement must have fired Hermione's temper, for the young woman not only smeared the blood on her forehead and lips but pressed her fingertip to the tip of her tongue. Keelyn swallowed the chuckle that wanted to escape when Hermione made a face, instead solemnly following her example. The air in the room suddenly went still and silent, a heavy, waiting feeling to it that was unusual for the ritual. In fact, rather than Keelyn feeling her own inner-sight firing, it was Hermione's unusual eyes that suddenly went dreamy and unfocused. A breeze swept through the room, rippling the blood in the bowl, and Keelyn felt a sudden wave of worry swamp her. She had just reached out a hand to touch the blood in the bowl, to erase it and Hermione's memory, when the girl spoke.

"You fight your destiny, Keelyn. It is not wise." It was not Hermione's voice that issued from her soft, nearly bloodless lips, but it was voice that Keelyn recognized: Gaia, the north wind, bringer of fate and whispering of desire. While all four of the winds had voices, it was only Gaia who was considered by the Faery to be the Mother of prophecy; as such, she had spoken with Keelyn many times, offering counsel, advice, and unwanted observations. Ignoring now the hint of amusement and tinge of malice that colored the slightly sandpapery voice, Keelyn frowned.

"Do you attempt to interrupt my ritual, Mother?"

Gaia laughed with Hermione's voice, though the younger woman's face remained composed and distant. "No, child of my heart, I do not. You do not see visions with this one because she is mine; she belongs to me."

Keelyn couldn't help control the shiver of unease that wound down her spine. Though she had yet to further test Ginny Weasley, Keelyn was almost convinced that she would find the girl was capable of controlling all aspects of the first element, earth. When she had finally completed the ritual yesterday with the pretty redhead, Keelyn had seen visions of the earth shifting at will, creatures bound to the soil answering a high, tremulous cry, and, strangely, the slow, echoing sound of the ground acting as buffer to the fast rush of water. All of these were signs that the young Weasley was more powerful than even some in the Seelie Court, to which the power of Earth was tied. Now, to hear Gaia claim Hermione Granger as capable of controlling the fourth element, wind, was enough to set Keelyn to trembling. "You mean, Mother, that you belong to her."

Another low chuckle and Hermione nodded, something of her own personality peeking out from behind Gaia's control. "Yes, evenutally, with time, training and will, it will be I who may call, and control, her." The moment passed, and once more it was Gaia who continued, low and impatient "But for now, I tell you again, daughter of fate, that you fight your destiny, and if you continue to do so, you will bring ruin to everyone."

Keelyn felt her fists clench and resisted the urge to wrench Gaia from Hermione's body in anguish. All of her life since she had discovered who and what she was, it had been a battle waged in Keelyn between duty and desire, love and honour. She saw it now as a price paid that duty, inevitably, had always won. If her heart ached a little, what was that, in the grand scheme of things? Only...only now Destiny's words scraped at an old wound newly reopened in a heart already battered. Fighting her own need to lay her head down and weep, she gritted, "You speak in riddles and are well aware I have little time or patience for them, Mother Destiny."

"Daughter, please." Gaia's voice suddenly echoed with weariness. Keelyn trampled the small flame of empathy that flared to life in her own breast. "You must stop listening so hard with your head and follow your heart. It speaks to you, if you would but listen." When Keelyn only growled, a fustrated, angry sound, Gaia reached out with Hermione's hand and placed it atop Keelyn's clenched fist. "Daughter, I have asked much of you these long years, through sorrow and pain and fear. Now, when the promise of so much balances precariously on the cliff of fulfillment, you would lock your heart away once more and call it necessity. You must be whole and strong to help Harry Potter defeat the shadow that is eating away at wizard and fae alike." Keelyn whimpered, her hand turning and opening beneath Hermione's, clutching it, as she dropped her head and fought to breathe through the hot press of tears.

"I'm afraid, Mother."

There was a sigh, and the cool caress of wind against Keelyn's burning face. The need to let the tears fall eased, and Keelyn managed a shaky breath. "I am sorry, Daughter, that all of this must be laid at your feet. Remember, please, what I have said. Now, chin up. You will need to soothe Miss Granger; she will be frightened."

Gulping in another sweet breath, feeling her tangled emotions lossening just a bit, she squeezed Hermione's hand once more and said, softly, "_Fòir_."

Immediately, Hermione gasped and shuddered, her eyes going wide and fearful, dominating her suddenly white face. "K-Keelyn?"

Keelyn smiled a little and squeezed Hermione's hand once more. "You have a powerful Faery gift, Hermione. What say you to that?"

For a moment, Keelyn was sure Hermione was going to have hysterics. Her pupils expanded to fill the whole of her eyes, and her petite body shuddered, hard. Then, suddenly, she steadied, and her pupils retracted, golden eyes flaring with knowledge, with power, and with a thirst for more. "I say it's about bloody time!"

* * *

Harry watched through narrowed green eyes as Hermione returned to the Dark Arts classroom, a secret little smile playing about her lips, and took her seat next to Ron. Keelyn followed not far behind her, her eyes scanning the classroom and returning Hermione's smile with one of her own. He still wasn't sure he completely trusted this Keelyn person, no matter, or perhaps because of, both her skill with the sword and Ginny's breathless fascination with her. Ginny hadn't told him much about her experience with the woman, only that she would be taking classes with her rather than attending Defense Against the Dark Arts. It all smacked of trouble to Harry, and despite Dumbledore's trust in the woman, Harry was reserving judgment until he'd had a chance to speak with her himself. 

Ron was of a similar bent, though seeing the excitement turning Hermione's cheeks a pretty shade of pink, and feeling the way her small body was fairly vibrating with repressed energy was enough to convince him that perhaps he needn't worry too much. Hermione was the most level-headed and intelligent person he knew, and while he was well-aware his perception of Hermione was slightly colored by his feelings for her, Ron was convinced that if Hermione trusted Keelyn, he should, as well. Reaching under the table, he found Hermione's small hand in his larger one and squeezed. She turned her head to smile at him, and then, suddenly, frowned, her free hand darting into the air.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Keelyn, I know you want volunteers, but in light of what you told me earlier, I would like you to test Ron Weasley next." She paused, then added as an afterthought, "Please."

Both Ron and Harry stiffened. Hermione shot a quelling glance at Harry, who grumbled something nasty under his breath, then turned her face up to Ron. His heart stuttered, as it always did, when she focused in on him as if he were the only thing that mattered to her. "Ron, I think you should go next. It's really important."

Ron frowned, his thumb brushing absently over Hermione's wrist, and ignored the scattering of snickers from his classmates. He was aware of the whispers that he was led around by his...ahem...man parts by his bushy-haired girlfriend, and honestly didn't mind them a bit. He and Hermione knew differently, knew that their relationship was shared in all ways. That she would ask this of him meant it was important, and that if it ended up that she had been wrong to ask him, she would not hesitate to apologize. Nodding once to her, and noting her look of relief, Ron raised his eyes to Keelyn, to find her watching he and Hermione with something like envy. He frowned, and the expression was gone from the professor's heart-shaped face. "If it's okay with you, then, Preofessor, I'd like to go next."

Keelyn nodded and shrugged, a half-smile playing about her lips. "Sure, Mr. Weasley, if you insist."

There were more snickers and a worried frown from Harry as Ron released Hermione's hand and got up to follow Keelyn across the hall.

Intellectually, Severus knew that Keelyn was testing Harry Potter and the rest of the 7th year Gryffindors today, and that it would be in everyon'es best interests, most especially his own, if he stayed away from the fourth floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom during his afternoon break from classes. Usually he spent his free hour either working in his laboratory or busy about some Order or even, sometimes, Death Eater, business. Today, however, he found himself peeking around the corner like some skulking adoloscent as Ron Weasley disappeared after Keelyn into the room across the hall from the Dark Arts classroom. Muttering to himself about the folly of what he was about to do, Severus reached into his pocket, producing at what first glance appeared to be flesh colored string. It was, in fact, one of the Extendable Ears Ron's brothers, Fred and George, had produced and which Severus had "confiscated" from a Hogwarts student. While he could never admit it to the Terrible Twosome, the little things were brilliant, and had come in handy on more than one occasion for Severus. Of course, many Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes products had found their way into Severus's posession, and damned if every one of them didn't amaze him in some way.

"...don't know about this, Professor." The Ear had reached its destination, and, to Severus's surprise, the room was not warded.

"Trust me, Ron, it won't hurt, and it'll heal as if it had never been there. Did you see a mark on Hermione of any kind?"

"No. No, I didn't." There was relief coloring the young man's voice, and Severus stifled a feeling of envy. It had been obvious from the beginning that the tall, gangly redhead had feelings for the Muggle-born 'know-it-all', and a small, never-healed wound in Severus had bled just a little everytime he saw them together. Hermione was built along the same lines as Keelyn had been at seventeen, petite but sturdy, with the promise of the ripe womanly curves that would grace her frame, and in his darker hours, he remembered his own fascination and ached. Keelyn's voice, brisk and firm, brought him back to the present.

"Okay, Ron, just hold your hand over the platter and try to relax." There was the sound of shuffling, of someone sitting, and then her voice once more, solemn and powerful, whispering a word that almost sent Severus stumbling back in shock, another unwelcome memory swamping him.

"Iongar? What does that mean?" 

_They were lying in the grass under the big oak where she had first kissed him, her back propped up against its rough bark, his head pillowed in his lap. She was not looking at him but instead up towards the crescent moon, which hung low in the late evening sky, obscured by a wisp of angry red cloud. It had been he to remark on the strange phenomenon, not particularly caring, but she had jerked her head up and stared before shuddering, muttering the strange word under her breath. Even now she didn't lower her head to look at him, only continued to gaze with something akin to despair at the moon._

_"Keelyn?" He reached up and cupped her chin, tugging lightly until she finally looked down at him. Her eyes had gone the blue of the ocean before a storm, deadly and desperate, and Severus felt something of her seething emotions transmit themselves to him._

_"It means..." She had to clear her throat and try again, her hand coming up to clutch at his, to move it away from her skin. He was suddenly aware of how shockingly cold she had gone. "It means "blood of the ancients". It means someone has died this night, and that it will be my duty to punish the Faery who has committed the crime."_

_He almost laughed, almost, until she suddenly flung herself up and away from him in an unnatural display of power. In all of the weeks they had been lovers, not since that first slash of lightning she had called while under this very tree, she had neither spoken of nor displayed any hint of her Faery gift. He had thought it was because she was weak, for anytime he mentioned her name to anyone of the Unseelie Court, there was pity in their eyes. To someone who had craved power and sought it through foul means and fair for most of his life, Severus had taken their pity to mean she was welcome at Faery only because she was unable to defend herself. Now, as she trembled above him, eyes gone black and dangerous, power emanating from her in waves, it suddenly came to him that perhaps they pitied her because she carried the burden of too much power. The knowledge had him scrambling to his feet and taking a step back before he could blink; in his experience, people who could wield that much power were dangerous. Hadn't Voldemort proven that, over and over again?_

_She grimaced then, contorting her pretty face, and said softly, painfully, "You're afraid of me."_

_Before he could reply, before he could do more than stretch his hand out to her, there was a call from behind them. "Keelyn? Keelyn, the Council is convening. Blythe has sent me to fetch you."_

_Severus rounded on Diana, the Queen's advisor, prepared to tell her to go to hell and take her 'Council' with her. Keelyn only sighed and stepped further away from him, her eyes closing briefly. When they opened, they were a flat, empty brown, her voice just as emotionless. "Stay, Severus. There's nothing more...just...stay."_

"Bloody hell!" It was Ron's surprised yelp that snapped Severus back to the present. He found that he was clutching the Extendable Ear so hard that his hand had gone white, and tried to ignore the ache somewhere near his heart. Using his years of experience and training as both Death Eater and spy for the Order, Severus pushed aside both the memory and the volatile emotions it had engendered. Instead, he concentrated on relaxing and catching the rest of the conversation. 

"It's okay, Ron, it's okay. You just set the table on fire, nothing unusual about that." Keelyn's voice was amused and it took a little more effort on Severus's part to ignore the way the sound of her voice slid deliciously down his spine.

"Nothing unusual? Professor, I just _set the table on fire_!" Ron did not sound panicked, as Severus would have expected. Although certainly he sounded a little shocked, there was a note of pride in his voice, as well.

Keelyn laughed. "Yes, Ron, you did, and I'm quite impressed. Seems you have a gift for the third element, fire, and a strong one. Who would have guessed, with those stories I've heard about your legendary temper?"

Ron chuckled this time, and Severus recognized the sound of chairs scraping back and movement towards the door. Regretfully, he began to tug the Extendable Ear back, only to find the movement halted. He was still frowning at the silent but immovable device in consternation when Keelyn came around the corner, amusement still lighting up her face.

Time, as often happens when it is most needed, stopped.


	8. Chapter Seven: Bonds

"There was an Extendable Ear in the classroom?" Harry couldn't keep the horror or the worry out of his voice. His uneasiness had already ratcheted up several notches when Ron had returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom alone and looking strangely triumphant. Now that he'd heard why Keelyn hadn't returned to the classroom, Harry recognized the old feeling of helplessness rising up to choke him. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order still had a hard time being straight with him; what if there was something much more sinister going on with this Keelyn person?

"I dunno, Harry, but it didn't seem to worry Keelyn much."

Harry's frown turned fierce as Ron shrugged and Hermione seemed unfazed.

"I don't like it that the both of you already trust her as much as Ginny seems to idolize her. What the bloody hell am I missing?" He honestly hadn't meant to yell that last but now that it was out there, he wasn't about to take it back. Of the things Harry found frustrating about his role of 'savior', not being told everything, especially the important things, bothered him the most. How was he supposed to help if he didn't know what was happening? That it was now Ron, Hermione and most especially, Ginny, who was keeping things from him was almost more than he could bear. Didn't they trust him?

He watched as Hermione shared a quick glance with Ron, then sighed heavily and nodded, barely, though her golden eyes remained worried. It was Ron who said, softly, making sure none of their sometimes too-curious classmates could hear, "Do you remember what you said it was like to hold that sword?"

Harry certainly did remember. Their first class with the Swordmaster, Jason, had been a bit boring. He'd basically had them doing lots of exercising and the like; only at the end had he allowed them to take foil practice swords and bang haphazardly on straw dummies. It was kind of surprising, then, when Jason had asked Harry, Hermione and Ron to stay after class for some special instructions. Only later did it dawn on Harry that Dumbledore must have arranged for them and Jason to have the hour after Jason's class free on purpose.

"I hear, Harry, that you've seen this sword before." From somewhere, Harry could never quite imagine where, Jason withdrew a long, slender rapier engraved with the name Godric Gryffindor. Harry took it automatically, weighing it carefully in his hand, surprised that it felt as perfectly balanced for him now as it had nearly five years earlier. When he said as much, Jason raised an eyebrow.

"I would think you'd have figured out by now that it's a magic sword, Harry." When Ron snorted, Harry grimaced and Hermione gave Jason a dirty look, the Swordmaster laughed aloud and clapped Harry on the back. It took effort for Harry not to stagger several steps. "Well, perhaps I should qualify that and say it's a magic sword forged by Faery. Godric was a great friend to us at one time and was given the sword as a gift. When you pulled it out of the Sorting Hat, it did something it hadn't done in centuries: it Bonded."

Harry knew he looked puzzled. "Dumbledore said that any true Gryffindor would have been able to pull the sword out of the hat."

Jason nodded. "That's certainly true. It seems Godric managed to convince the sword to form some sort of agreement with the Sorting Hat when Hogwarts was first founded."

"Convinced? How did he convince a sword, magical or not?"

"That's what it means that the sword and Godric were Bonded, Harry." Everyone turned with varying degrees of astonishment to Ron, though Jason also looked speculative. Ron shrugged and grinned, half-embarrassed, half-proud. "What? Hermione isn't the only one who likes to read. Besides, I've always been interested in swords and such, how they're made. When a blade is forged by Faery fire, it becomes almost like a person. No one is quite sure how it works, except that it's almost as if the sword develops a personality all of its own. When these special weapons meet up with someone they find particularly interesting, they Bond to that person, lending their strength or special powers or whatever it is they possess to their wielder until the wielder dies. If this sword Bonded to Godric, he could have pretty much convinced it to fly him to the moon if it was able."

While Harry eyed the sword askance and Hermione frowned in consternation at her boyfriend, Ron said matter-of-factly, "I'd bet anything that Excalibur, the sword Arthur pulled out of the Stone, was something like this one. Probably Merlin, being the champion of Faery and all, discovered a way to make Excalibur Bond only to the true king of England."

"So, wait. You're saying that this sword is now linked to me somehow? How come Dumbledore didn't say something before?"

"He didn't know. He wouldn't have known until something activated the sword's Bond with you. Most likely that was you coming here, wasn't it, Jason?"

"That's right, Ron. The sword had lain dormant for so many years that it probably would have never made its connection to Harry known without some sort of nudge, either from Harry himself or from a Swordmaster. This sword is the only one of its kind that resides outside of Faery, so of course I was curious to see it. Both Dumbledore and I were pretty shocked when, as soon as I touched it, it began demanding to see Harry."

"You mean it spoke?" Hermione sounded slightly scandalized and very disbelieving. Harry managed not to chuckle by hiding it in a cough. It always amazed him that, despite the fact that at eleven Hermione had found herself in a fairy tale, she still managed to be completely bowled over by such things as werewolves, love potions and talking swords.

"Well, not in the way we're speaking now, Hermione, but yes, it spoke. I got a picture of Harry pulling it from the Sorting Hat before it let me know that it clearly now belonged to him."

Harry swished the sword experimentally, still frowning.

"A sword isn't going to do me much good against Dementors, Death Eaters and Voldemort."

"No, but it might do you some good against trolls, giants, and anything other nasty things Voldemort manages to recruit. Besides, like Ron here said, all Faery swords have special powers. This one is apparently able to appear and disappear at will, as well as lending its strength to any Faery magic its wielder uses."

"But I don't have Faery magic." Only Harry caught the quick flash of something, here and gone, in Jason's eyes. Before he could puzzle it out, Jason laid a hand on his shoulder and then pointed to the practice dummies.

"Go try it out, Harry. Don't be surprised if the sword starts 'talking' in your head. When you're finished, I have the sheath, sword-belt and a couple of other things I want to give you. As for you, Ron, Hermione, I have a couple of different weapons I want the two of you to try out. Dumbledore suggested a bow and arrows for Hermione, as well as throwing knives, while with Ron, he suggested I try about everything."

Harry caught Ron's surprised smirk and Hermione's startled expression before he turned to face one of the dummies. Before he could blink, the sword sent him an image of the stance he should take. Startled, he nearly dropped the blade and could have sworn he heard faint laughter. Darting a glance over his shoulder, he realized it couldn't have been his friends, for Hermione was eyeing the small throwing knife in her hand as if it might bite and Ron was hefting a trident and scowling. Again, this time tinged with impatience, Harry received an image of a dueling position, much like the one Lockhart had shown them in their Second Year during the disastrous dueling club incident. When still Harry hesitated, he felt a small shock run up his arm. It didn't hurt but it did convince him that the sword meant business. Balancing himself on the balls of his feet, Harry did as instructed. Immediately, strength seemed to pour out of the sword and Harry began a series of maneuvers that both shocked and delighted him.

By the end of the hour, when all three were tired, achy and still needed to get to their next class, Harry knew that he had Bonded to the sword as much as it had Bonded to him. Recalling that feeling of euphoria, acceptance and perfect understanding now, he nodded hesitantly at Ron. "Yes, I remember."

"Well, if what happened with me, Hermione and Ginny happens for you, which I think it will, it will be nothing to what you feel with that blade. Keelyn can do exactly what she says: call up buried Faery power."

"So that makes you trust her?"

Hermione sighed and suddenly looked much older than seventeen. "Harry, we have to trust someone. She's giving us new weapons, just like Jason, and has promised to teach us to use them. With war looming, what more can we ask of an ally?"

Harry sighed and sank back in his chair, unconsciously fingering his scar. Hermione was right. They needed all of the allies they could get. Despair threatened to overwhelm him. "Weapons and war and death. Do any of us ever get to be normal?"

Ron grimaced and Hermione winced. "Not until he's gone, Harry. Not until he's gone."


	9. Chapter Eight: The Space Between

"The four of them are a Circle of Power." Severus had not meant to state it so baldly. He had not, in fact, meant to speak to her about it at all. What good would it do to have his worst fears for the four young people confirmed? Her pupils expanded and she drew in a sharp breath, her eyes swirling quickly from color to color, and he just knew. Dumbledore would not have invited her, and Blythe and Zane would not have let her come, if they had not believed that Harry was more than just the Boy Who Lived: he was the fourth element and the anchor in a Circle of Power the likes of which had not been seen in centuries. Something of his distress must have communicated itself to her, for her mouth thinned and her hands balled at her sides.

"I have yet to test Harry, Severus. And...and...power just _is_. It's like rain, like the moon, like ...like love. It's what we do with it that makes us who we are. Will you punish these children, now, for something that's out of their hands?" An old argument with a new spin certainly wasn't what she'd meant to say to him during the first private moment they'd had in too many years. Staring at him across the chasm of the past and teetering on the brink of the future of wizarding- and Faery-kind alike, seeing in his obsidian glance all that she'd hoped not to find, had her tongue running away with her.

He looked...older. Up close, his hawk-like features, always spare and slightly cruel, had sharpened; the shadows under his eyes were deep. Something in his mouth told her life had still never found kindness for him. She had wished that for him. She had wished, briefly, hopelessly, that she could be what brought him joy. It was a bitter ache that she'd caused him pain, that what she had never asked to be had made him fear her. Sighing inwardly, she silently handed him the listening device and turned to go. Her name, and something in his voice, some exasperation, some shred of understanding, had her pausing.

"Keelyn." He shook his head, sighed, and slowly returned the Extendable Ear to a pocket of his black professor's robe. "Keelyn, I never meant for you to think I was punishing you for your power. I wasn't punishing you at all."

Severus nearly winced at the incredulity coloring her gaze. He supposed he had earned the skepticism, earned the slight curl to her pretty upper lip that indicated she thought he was lying. Perhaps the space between who she was and what he had believed would always be unbridgeable. However, seeing her again, sharing their memories...he wanted her to understand. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, marveling at the stark contrast between her golden skin and his paleness, marveling that she didn't turn away, that still she didn't run. "Keelyn. I loved you. With everything I had, with all that I was, I loved you. But I couldn't....I didn't have anything to give."

Something in her that remembered what it had felt like to wake up one morning and find him gone, that remembered being seventeen and so in love she would have given up everything, wanted to brush his hand coldly from her face and turn away from the plea in his eyes. The woman in her, the one that had lived another seventeen years and still never come to terms with herself, the one who heard Gaia's warning about listening to her heart echoing again and again, stood still and said, softly, "You were disappointed that my power wasn't good or pure or perfect."

"Yes." He said the word slowly, as if testing out its veracity. "I wasn't looking for a love of equals. I was looking for someone to save me, from myself, from the darkness, from all that I had done."

"I can't even save myself." She hadn't meant to sound so bitter. His lips curled in something like a smile and his thumb brushed across her cheekbone. His eyes had softened and Keelyn felt her heart tremble.

"I couldn't, either, until you came along." His hand trailed down to lay at the base of her throat, his long, slender fingers curled loosely around the slender column. He felt her pulse stutter and allowed himself to caress the spot with the pad of his thumb, delighting in the smooth texture of her skin. "Do you know that I spent the better part of a week drunk after I left you?"

"You...you don't drink." Breathing was becoming more difficult. His touch had always sent her wits scattering.

"I didn't, and I haven't, since. But...leaving you was harder than anything I'd ever had to do."

"Had to do?" She meant for her voice to be crisp, to hide the quick flash of pain that his words sent spiraling through her. Instead, she heard the tears that choked her voice, knew he saw them tremble on her lashes. Something, some emotion she couldn't define but labelled pity, slid through his eyes, and had years of her own bitterness bubbling to the surface. "You _had_ to leave me? Is that something like when my Muggle parents told me I'd be better off not coming home for the holidays, because I wasn't quite normal enough for them? Or is it more like what happened when I turned fifteen and the Headmistress of the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizadry chucked me out on my ear when my Faery gifts manifested themselves in a display that left me so frightened I couldn't move or speak for two days?"

She paused to take a breath, no longer looking outward but rather inward, at a past she had never even hinted at before. Severus ached to see the pain crawling across her face. "It could even be that you left me for some noble reason like Blythe and Zane had for taking me in, namely that someone has to save me from myself. Maybe, Severus, you just have the same complex everyone else does. They don't know how, and don't care to know how, to love someone who was a terrible Muggle, a mediocre witch but the most powerful Faery since before time forgot."

"It's not a complex, Keelyn, it's a failing." She tried to brush him off, tried to turn away, but Severus tightened his hold on her throat, his long fingers keeping her face turned up to his. They both knew that if she had wanted to turn away, she could have. "It's a failing and it's not yours, it's ours." He deliberately gentled his hold and his voice, lowering his head until his breath stirred the loose tendrils of hair that caressed her cheek. "How could I bear to love you, when you are more wondrous, more beautiful and more terrible than anything I have ever imagined? How could I love you, when your power could be as bold and painful as the power of those who had spent their lives being cruel to others?" He turned his head, let his lips brush her soft cheek, let himself inhale her scent, something vaguely wild and earthy and alive, and whispered, "How could I love you, when I had already done unspeakable things in the quest for power like yours?"

"Because you felt remorse for every terrible deed you had ever committed, in the loving of her."

Keelyn and Severus sprang apart as if they'd been burnt to find Harry leaning causally against the wall next to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his expression carefully neutral. "Don't glare at me, Professor, you had to know I'd recognize her eventually."

"Recognize me? What is he talking about, Severus?" Keelyn looked from boy to man and back again with narrowed eyes and the strange sense that she had missed something important.

"Mr. Potter knows that he shouldn't be loitering in the hallway. Why don't you go ahead and finish testing the students, and we'll finish this discussion later?" Severus glared hard at Harry and swept away in a flurry of robes before anyone could protest. Looking and feeling dazed, Keelyn tutned to Harry with a raised eyebrow.

The boy...no, the young man, simply stared back at her with intelligent green eyes that saw entirely too much. Because she saw in Harry's face what she saw in her own, that need and drive and will to carry the burdens they had not chosen coupled with a keen loss of self to the greater good, Keelyn reached up and laid her hand on his shoulder. Her inner eye went haywire. Without benefit of her blood or his, Keelyn saw what Severus had already suspected and what she had known but secretly hoped was not true: Harry Potter was Water. Swift, dangerous, wild and elemental, his power swept through her, tempered only by his thoughts of mossy earth and jagged rocks.

"Ginny."

Keelyn came back to herself to find Harry standing very still under her hand, his eyes wide and glassy and worried, his face as pale as death. "What..." He had to clear his throat and try again. "What just happened?"

Keelyn had to draw several shaky breaths before she could speak. Even then, her voice carried with it a tinge of her worry and fear for him, for Ginny, even for Ron and Hermione. "Ginny. You think of her, when your Faery power spills too closely to the surface. Was it her you thought of not long into the summer when the Death Eaters who attacked your aunt and uncle's home were nearly drowned? Was it thoughts of her that kept you from destroying all of that silly Muggle street with the water?" Before he could even speak, Keelyn waved her hand. "Don't answer. I can see it in your face."

"I didn't mean to...there wasn't time to think...they just appeared and...I won't feel badly for protecting people!"

"Harry." He turned those green, green eyes to her face, his cheeks pale but his mouth set in a defiant line and Keelyn realized with a sort of half-amused, half-angry despair that her emotions were already tangled up with Harry and his friends. Was she forever destined to care at the most innopportune moments? "Harry, you didn't do anything wrong. Protecting people always carries with it a price. All of us with power pay it; some gladly, some reluctantly, but in the end, it's what helps remind us that sometimes our pain is worth the greater good."

Harry nodded, slowly, his fingertips rising to rub at a jagged scar on his forehead, an immediate look of frustration and fear casting a further pallor on his aquiline features. Keelyn realized with a start that this must be what branded him as the savior and that touching it had become a habit that he needed to break. Reaching out, she grasped his much larger hand in her smaller one and said, softly, "Stop. Touching it must only serve to remind you of what you've lost. I need you to focus on what you have, and what can be gained."

He wanted to trust her. She saw it in the way his hand turned in hers, pressing palm to palm, the way his eyes went dark and unfathomable, the way his mouth relaxed, softened. She could see the boy in him, still, that needed to be loved, that ached for security and honesty and truth. Whether it was his otherness calling to her own or something deeper, she pressed her free hand over their joined ones and gave him what she could. "If Sever...Professor Snape has told you anything about me, if anyone has, they must have told you what, who, I am. I need something from you and your friends, something I'm not sure you would be willing to give under normal cicumstances. However, in the asking, I'm willing to give you everything I am, everything I have, everything I know, in return."

Keelyn let her power slither down her arms and up his, watched him shiver and jerk under the gentle onslaught, then steady himself without conscious effort or will. Oh, yes, there was power and resolve here, in him. She was grateful; he was going to need it. "I can help you defeat him, and together we can save the world. You think we're up to it, you, me, Ron, Hermione and Ginny?"

For a long moment, Harry found himself caught between the past with all of its mistakes and wrong turns and the promise of a war fought with such powerful weapons and allies as the Fae could povide. In the kaleidoscope of this woman's eyes, he saw himself reflected back, again and again, the millions of ways he could choose to meet Voldemort and fulfill the prophecy on an endless loop. Perhaps this was the wrong choice, to align himself with someone he knew only from Snape's memories, but it was choice, a risk, he thought he might be willing to take. "I can't speak for my friends. I will say, however, that if you can truly help me, if you can help bring the Faery realm to bear on Voldemort, if you can help me harness some new power I've been given, then I do believe we can come to an agreement."


	10. Chapter Nine: Of Dragons and Hope

_Author's Note: I'm sorry about the short chapters. Plot bunnies keep getting in my soup. I hope you're enjoying the story. To everyone who's reading and reviewing (you know who you are :o) thanks. This is kinda fluffy - expect some H/G and R/Hr lurve in the next chapter as I make you wait to see what happens when Severus goes to see Voldemort.  (I'm so evil.)  Oh, and Draco will get his own love story...eventually._

* * *

"Severus, I've come to...oh. Draco. Hello."

The blonde, lean young man with the angel's face and the devil's disposition chuckled, his eyes strangely empty as he stepped back and swept her a bow. "Mistress Keelyn. Come to see Professor Snape, have you? Is he taking ... private lessons?"

There was a touch of insolence and innuendo in the boy's tone that had Keelyn chuckling and propping a hip against the door. She had already had a long talk with Dumbledore about the young master Malfoy, prompted by her discovery that he had quite a store of Faery ability hidden under his icy disdain. The gruesome murder of his mother by Death Eaters coupled with the subsequent slide into insanity and eventual suicide of his father over the course of the past year had forged a new Draco. While he was still cheerfully cheeky and coldly sarcastic, he had taken a sudden introspective turn that often led him, Dumbledore had informed her with a twinkle in his eye, to the Potion Master's door. Draco was still vain, still much too conscious of class, and could not quite shake his dislike of what he called "The Fetid Foursome", but Dumbledore felt the boy might just make the right decision, when push came to shove. Keelyn was hoping both Severus's influence and, now, perhaps her own, might steer the sneering, insecure, orphaned boy in the right direction. Her own thoughts startled her. What was she, now, everyone's mother?

"Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you're still angry with me what your only claim to Faery power lies in an affinity with your namesake." Draco had taken it ass a grave insult that his vast store of power only lay in taming dragons. Either he didn't know or didn't care that no one had been able to tame dragons in centuries; the lack of a dragon tamer with Faery gifts was why the Dragon Reserves existed in the first place.

Draco's finely drawn features pulled into a most uncomplimentary scowl, his pale blonde brows dipping dangerously low over his nearly colorless eyes. "Dragons. What use do I have for such a paltry power? I'm sure Potty, the Weasels and the..."

"Ah-ah, Draco, language." Severus appeared behind Draco, his own amusement hidden behind a bland expression. Keelyn's eyes lifted to his and she saw him physically check himself from reaching out to her. It warmed her heart, already in danger of melting from overload from the day's events.

She had been both shocked and pleased to discover that, among the seventh form Gryffindors, fully eighty-five percent of them had some sort of Faery ability. Neville Longbottom could make things grow by simply being near them, Lavender Brown had a knack for glamour, young master Finnigan could tame any four-legged, non-magical beast with the sound of his voice...and that was only four of the ten of them with power! It boggled the mind that so much power was contained in such a small group of people. And now she was responsible for them.

For his part, Severus had not missed the new warmth lighting her eyes, or the way she carelessly teased the child of a man who had once declared all Faery-kind should be exterminated. He, of course, had heard the excited murmurs about her in the Great Hall at dinner and had expended a lot of effort not to beam with pride. He could see, now, that spark, that excitement, that drive that had drawn him to her so long ago. He sent a quelling glance at Draco, startled as always to find that the boy could look him directly in the eye. When had the little bugger gotten so tall?

"I was going to call her a bookworm," Draco muttered sullenly, stepping back from the door. Keelyn touched his shoulder as she stepped over the threshold, gently squeezing.

"I know for a fact that your power isn't so paltry and is extremely rare, Draco. Use it for good or ill as you wish, but it can certainly be helpful." He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing her sincerity, and then suddenly, totally, relaxed. A little smirk crossed his lips, lending his features a strangely attractive, slightly sinister, cast.

"Not going to lecture me on what's right or wrong, then. No wonder the two of you are so hot for each other: not a scrupulous bone in your bodies."

Severus couldn't help it; he chuckled. Keelyn shot him a dirty look and he shrugged, helplessly, as Draco's smirk grew. "What? Certainly the boy's being a prat but you have to give him credit for doing justice to a bad pun."

Keelyn frowned. Pun? She ran the sentence back over in her mind, and then her face flamed. "Did you just make some sort of crude reference to a sexual organ, Mr. Malfoy?" Her voice was so prim, her blush so hot, that Severus had to reach out and touch her.

Draco watched, half-amused, half-disgusted and quite a bit envious as his stern, autocratic Potions Master brushed his fingertips over the woman's cheek. When she smiled and captured Severus's hand in her own, pressing a kiss to his palm, Draco turned away, pretending to gag. In fact, he was hiding a wistful expression he hadn't been able to quell. Draco was a little gone over Keelyn, though he'd eat flobberworms and kiss Potty before he'd admit it. Sticking his tongue out at himself in the mirror over the fireplace, Draco wandered over and sprawled elegantly into one of the ornately carved antique chairs, giving the couple some privacy. After all, if he couldn't have her, he thought to himself philosophically, wasn't the next best thing for her to be in love with the head of Slytherin House? Potty, the Weasels and the...bookworm would have the vapors.

"Did I come at a bad time? I don't want to interrupt if you're busy." Keelyn had to force the words past her dry throat as Severus drew their hands to his chest, tugging her closer. She saw the intent in his eyes, the way they narrowed and darkened, and knew that if he kissed her, she might well forget that Draco was even in the room. "Severus. Not in front of the boy."

"Oh, don't mind me, Keelyn. I'm used to watching couples snog all over the place."

Caught halfway between a laugh and a groan, Severus rested his forehead against Keelyn's. He knew she hadn't come to be kissed anymore than she'd come to verbally spar with Draco. It was time to finish the conversaton they'd started in the hallway. "Mr. Malfoy, I think we're done for the evening. Why don't you run along and I'll let you know as soon as I arrange that meeting you're so anxious to have with Dumbledore?"

Draco glared, until he caught the surprised, pleased expression on Keelyn's face as she turned to look at him. Puffing out his chest, he sauntered to the door and bowed once more. "At your command, guvna." He slammed the door behind him.

"He's a right cheeky little bastard." There was amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"Yes, and he hasn't quite figured out that heartlessness and cruelty aren't the way of the world." Keelyn looked up at Severus and caught the wistful expression. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders.

"He reminds me of someone I knew, once."

"Mmmm. You've come to have the talk, haven't you?"

"You mean the 'come to Jesus talk', as my grandmother used to say? Yes, I suppose we should have one of those." Severus's eyebrows winged up at the reluctance in her voice, at the way she turned her head away from him and her fingers worried the top clasp of his robe.

"You don't think we should talk about what happened?"

"I don't think there's anything left to say, Severus. You weren't looking to love someone imperfect and I wasn't experienced enough to be honest with you from the beginning. It just wasn't our time."

"And now?"

Keelyn's eyes shot to his face and she knew she had to look completely undone. He couldn't mean...he didn't want...oh my. "N-now?"

He nodded, slowly, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his black eyes serious and intent. "Yes. You helped me save myself a long time ago. And it's certainly true that I know now all that you are. Can you...will you let me love you?"

Her face, that exotic, sweet face, lit up as if from the light of a thousand candles. He would not know, however, what she might have said, for suddenly, the Dark Mark made its presence known.


	11. Chapter Ten: Exceptional

_Sorry it took so long for a new chapter - life got in the way. First, some R/Hr interaction that wrote itself, then on to Severus's meeting with Voldemort. I apologize for jumping back and forth between calling Voldemort "Riddle" and "Voldemort"; he is both, and I want to accentuate that. If you get confused as to why Voldemort is just now learning of Severus's past with Keelyn, remember that Voldemort was "dead" when Severus went to Faery for solace. Also, I explain in this chapter why Keelyn isn't trying to call forth powers in Dumbledore or even Severus - pay attention, because it will be important later._

"Ron?"

"Hmmmm?" More than a little sleepy, despite the fact that Hermione was curled up in his lap clad only in her knickers and one of his old Weasley jumpers, Ron's interest was barely piqued when she lifted her head from the curve of his neck to peer at him with curious golden eyes.

"How is it that you and Ginny know so much about Faery, when neither of you read much or have ever seemed particularly interested in the topic before?"

Ron shrugged and slid one large hand up under the hem of the pilfered jumper, stroking the smooth lines of her back laconically, enjoying the softness of her skin. It wasn't often that they had time like this, what with helping Harry to save the world and keeping him from irritating Ginny with his "hero complex". When it came, when serious, smart and beautiful Hermione curled up in his lap and purred like a contented kitten while he touched her, Ron tried to hold on to the moment as long as possible. Usually, Hermione indulged his whims, for Ron, as clumsy and inept as he could sometimes be, made her feel in those moments all of the things she had been certain she would never feel: sexy, desirable, loved. This evening, however, after a week of revelations that had left all of them reeling, Hermione had thoughts other than how his large hand splayed across the small of her back made her stomach tighten unbearably.

"Ron, a shrug isn't an answer." When he frowned down at her, his cerulean eyes gone slightly cloudy with the first stirrings of lust, Hermione sat up straight in his lap and smacked his shoulder smartly. "I asked you a question, you big lummox."

"Ow, Hermione. You know it turns me on when you make it hurt a little and call me nasty names." When she only huffed at his comical leer, Ron sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, a habitual gesture that somehow always made him look older. Hermione tried hard to convince herself that she didn't miss the feel of his hands on her skin. "The truth is that Mum has always had a fascination for Faery much like Dad's mad fascination with Muggles. While hers isn't as out in the open as Dad's, one of her favorite and best subjects in school was the study of Mythical Races. An interest she apparently shares with Professor Snape, from what Dumbledore told Harry." Ron and Hermione shared a particularly droll look. Molly Weasley was not particularly fond of Snape, though she did try her best to be civil. Molly's idea of civil, however, was to rarely acknowledge his existence.

"I still don't understand how you and Ginny both like the topic, though. Neither of you is particularly interested in Muggles, like your dad."

Ron chuckled and then glanced deliberately down at Hermione's chest, outlined quite deliciously by the once-hated maroon fabric. "I dunno, 'Mione, I'm pretty fascinated with you, and you're a Muggle."

Hermione returned Ron's grin with a devilish one of her own and did something deliberately that, before a hot summer spent discovering Ron's weakness for bushy hair, golden eyes and lush curves, she would have never dreamt of trying: she twisted her shoulders just enough so that the slightly-too-large V-neck of the jumper shifted, revealing both a bare shoulder and the soft upper slope of one of her breasts. She felt Ron's breath catch, heard him swallow hard and had to give him credit for forcing his eyes back up to her face; that they had gone once more stormy with lust was just an added benefit. What really touched Hermione, however, what had her truly believing that Ron loved her, was that he cared as much about their conversation as about the hot, wicked moments they did their level best to hide from everyone. That he would now ignore her deliberate provocation and his own desire had her feeling much like the cat with the cream.

She chuckled at her own little innuendo and had one of Ron's ginger eyebrows rising in query. "I do believe you just had a naughty thought, Ms. Granger. If you keep that up, this conversation will end up with one or hopefully both of us naked."

"If I get naked, will you tell me what I want to know?" That had both of Ron's eyebrows shooting skyward.

"Love, if you get naked, I'll read _Hogwarts: A History_ without complaining about it."

She seemed to consider this, her head tilted to one side, and Ron had to swallow hard to keep from reaching for her then and there. Whatever anyone might think and despite derogatory cracks he had made to the contrary in the past, Ron found his girlfriend's attention to detail excessively sexy. Her natural inquisitiveness kept him on his toes both in and outside the bedroom. To have her nearly offering to strip so he'd tell her a boring story about his childhood had him silently thanking Merlin once again that she belonged to him. The sound of her voice, soft and amused and a little nervous roused him from his contemplations.

"Ron, if you answer my question to my satisfaction, I'll turn on some music and do more than just get naked - I'll do a strip-tease."

His first instinct was to pump his fist in the air and say something suitably unromantic and typically male. He was, after all, only seventeen, and his hormones rode him hard. However, from the way she'd dropped her eyes to his chin and her hands were fiddling with her hair, he knew the idea made her nervous and unsure. Despite his repeated and often lewd assurances that he found her soft, ripe curves very appealing, Hermione still had trouble believing she looked sexy naked. Ron swallowed whatever crass statement had been about to cross his lips and said, instead, "That sounds like a bang up idea, Hermione-love. How about, though, I tell you the story and then we get naked together?"

She frowned at him, a protest ready on her lips. Before she could voice it, he pressed her cheek gently to his chest and lifted his hands to her hair, sifting it through his fingers lightly, enjoying its silky texture and the way it wound itself around his fingers. He felt her relax, felt her sigh into his collarbone, shivered as she nuzzled his skin lightly with her mouth, then took a deep breath as she settled against him, agreeing to hear what he had to say. "Before I really had any memories of anything, Mum was telling me and Ginny stories about Faery. We were her babies, you see, the little ones who still listened with all we were to whatever she had to say. Bill and Charlie were already away at school, Percy was usually reading and the twins had never been able to sit still long enough to really hear her. Dad, well," here Ron sighed and gently nuzzled Hermione's ear, promising himself he would never get too busy to notice what was important to her, "Dad had seven children to feed in a world growing steadily darker. He didn't particularly have time to listen, either."

"Do you think she told you stories to maybe forget what was happening outside her door?"

"It's possible. Whatever her reasons, Mum shared with Ginny and me what she knew about Faery. Not just the tales told to Muggle children, either, but the danger and the heroics and the few secrets she knew. Of course I always wanted to hear more about the weapons and strategy and war. Ginny always asked for stories about peace and kindness and magic." Ron paused long enough to have Hermione raising her head in concern. He had a funny look on his face, half-stunned, half-amused.

"What?"

"Do you remember storming out of Divination?" Hermione nodded, slowly, perplexed at his sudden veering from the topic at hand. Ron chuckled and tugged gently on her hair.

"I don't suppose Ginny told you that anyone able to harness the power of Wind is considered among the Fae excessively wise." Just when Hermione's expression was heading towards smug, Ron leaned in and whispered, "Or that those who can listen to the Wind can tell the future?"

Hermione jumped as if she'd been scalded. "What? No, that can't be right, that's a load of rubbish."

"I think you'll find that, if you ask Keelyn enough questions, she'll tell you that it's the truth."

"Wait. You said you liked stories about war, while Ginny asked about peace. Are you saying that Fire is associated...and Earth with..." Hermione's voice trailed off when Ron nodded. "But...what about Water? If you're war, Ginny peace, and me the future, what's Harry?"

"It's not that simple, love, or at least not from the way Mum used to talk. I mean, Ginny isn't at all peaceful most times, and really neither is the Earth. I certainly don't always want to go to war." Ron once more looked thoughtful. "You know, something else I just remembered about Mum's stories. While all of the heroes and heroines were excessively beautiful and brave and talented, they all lived a long time ago. I don't think she ever once mentioned someone in the last millennia or so who could call on a whole element."

"Maybe we're just exceptional people, Ron."

She said it with amusement, but Ron smiled a funny, very adult sort of smile, smoothed her hair back form her face and said, softly, "We are, Hermione."

For a timeless moment, she simply looked at herself reflected in the depths of his suddenly too-knowledgeable eyes. She knew Ron was confident that they could save the world. One of them had to be, because Harry was too busy clinging to every moment of happiness he could get, Ginny was too busy being annoyed by Harry's destiny, and she...well. Hermione sighed and stroked her fingertips down Ron's arms, feeling the faint ridges of the scars he'd already earned in the battle at the Ministry, feeling him tense a little, as he always did, as if they still hurt. For herself, Hermione just wanted it to be over so that she could go back to believing in happily ever after. Sighing, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmured, "Ron, I love you."

Something about the way she said it, a wistfulness, a tinge of desperation, had Ron hauling her up until they were plastered together like two halves of a whole, and slanting his mouth across hers. She stiffened for only a moment, her small hands clutching at his shoulders, before, with a soft little shiver, she capitulated, her lips parting for the sweep of his tongue. She knew he could make her forget everything but him, everything except that he loved her like no one else had ever, would ever, love her. For now, with the world spinning much too quickly around them, it could be enough.

* * *

"You have something I want."

Severus projected mild disinterest and boredom using both facial expressions and a bit of emotional magic by way of his Occlumency, even as his more private thoughts swung immediately to Keelyn at Voldemort's pronouncement. They had managed to settle nothing, really, before he'd been forced away. He had not asked her to wait, as it could be morning or later before he returned, but she had offered anyway, saying simply, "It's taken us eighteen years, Severus. I can wait a little longer." Now, facing the man he still called master across the dingy room of some backwater country home Voldemort and his minions had procured, Severus hoped that Voldemort was not about to ask him to make a grim choice between dearly-bought honour and long-lost love.

"Aren't you even a little bit interested in what you could possible have that I need, Snape?"

"Not particularly, my Lord, as I own little that is not already yours." It was true, though there had been little left of the proud Snape legacy by the time Severus swore fealty to Voldemort at the tender age of nineteen. A mouldering ruin of a manor house on the wild cliffs of Dover, a few foundering businesses in the seedier parts of both Muggle and Wizarding London, and a scattering of magical artifacts whose uses had long been lost were all that Voldemort had gained from his alliance with the Snapes. That he had gained one of the most powerful Occlumens of the age was something Voldemort, in his wild, mad grasp for power of his own, had never discovered. Severus's ability to hide, obscure and even manufacture false memories, thoughts and emotions was something few people knew.

That he had, only recently, managed to teach the same ability to Harry Potter was an even more closely guarded secret.

Voldemort laughed, a cruel, sharp sound, and slouched farther down into his chair, steepling his long, thin fingers under his chin as he regarded Severus. Fear of the man who styled himself the Dark Lord had long deserted Severus, even though distaste lingered for the tall, gangly, emaciated man who wore his evil thoughts like a thin cloak. Blood-shot eyes, pale skin and the sort of disarray of person that often marked the clinically mad but was in reality simply one more clever disguise kept Severus wary of his former master: while Tom Riddle was certainly a powerful wizard, his strength lay not in magical ability but in his sly intelligence and ability to inspire others to unspeakable acts of cruelty. "You do not own this thing, Severus, but you once lusted after it. I have even heard tales that you fancied yourself in love with it."

"You know as well as I that such an emotion is foreign to me." Taking a chance, Severus added, "You're talking about the Sidhe."

Surprise flashed briefly across Voldemomort's face, swiftly chased by shrewd calculation. "So you are acquainted with the lovely Keelyn O'Roarke, who styles herself queen and savior of a race that should have died out long ago."

Severus barely suppressed a frown. Voldemort's one true flaw was his inability to believe that any race had worth save full-blooded wizards. Certainly he didn't mind farming other races for their strengths, like the low country vampires for their cunning or the giants for their fierceness, but Voldemort's ultimate aim was for a race of pure-blooded wizards to rule all of England and, eventually, the world; high aspirations indeed for a half-blood wizard of murky descent. "I don't know about her own beliefs, but both the King and Queen of the Faery Courts are certainly convinced she's the Sidhe of prophecy."

"Hmmm. Have you been privy to a display of any of her powers?"

This was a tricky question. It was possible his loyalty to Voldemort's ultimate goal was once more being tested, as Voldemort could already know the answer to his question. That it never occurred to Riddle that there really was no honour among thieves sometimes amused Severus, and at other times made his double life all the more dangerous; Voldemort expected obsequience from all of his followers, and with his Legilimency, often got it. "I have seen her call lightning and seen her bleed a man with just the sound of her voice, and I have also seen her use her wand to create bluebell flames. If you're asking if I've seen this ability of hers to call forth latent Faery powers, then no, I have not." Severus shrugged, grateful to be able to tell the truth, at least in this. "There is too much history between us for her to trust me completely now."

"But you do know she is capable of such a thing?"

"The children claim she is. Of course, they could simply be under some sort of binding spell or faery glamour."

"And what sort of powers run rampant in the halls of Hogwarts?"

Voldemort was not asking an idle question. That his plans had been foiled again and again by mere children was a constant source of puzzlement and fury for the Dark Lord. He had come to a grudging understanding that Harry Potter defeated him partly because in the casting of the curse to end Harry's life as an infant, Riddle had passed on some of his own powers to the child. However, that the others, but most especially the Muggle-born Hermione, could upend his carefully constructed plots was enough to send the "most powerful wizard in the world" into histrionics.

In fact, since catching a glimpse of Hermione not so long ago via Lucius Malfoy's Mirror of Peering, Voldemort had developed an unhealthy obsession with the girl. It was beginning to worry Severus. What more would Riddle do, when he learned that not only was Hermione capable of thwarting his plans, but she now controlled Wind, harbringer of fate and whisperer of truth?

"I have been told that she has managed to call forth minor powers. For example, a couple of the children have exhibited what Dumbledore calls a Wild Form. Basically it is like they are Animagi without being restricted to one animal form." Severus was careful not to mention which children were capable of such a thing, though bitterness tinged his restraint. He did not keep the information from Voldemort because he wished to protect the children. No, Severus kept this secret because the Order would soon be recruiting those self-same children. How was it that war bred not honour but necessity?

"Minor powers are still powers, Snape. Is she capable of performing this magic trick on adults or is that beyond her abilities?" Voldemort was projecting his eagerness even though his voice remained bland and dry, with that undercurrent of oily hissing that marked his many years as a Parseltongue.

"She says she's certainly willing to try, though the consequences for several have been dire. Three have gone mad, one is in hospital with oozing sores that never heal, and two have died in most disturbing and painful ways." This was not information Severus had gleaned from Keelyn but from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had carefully explained to his staff that while he would support them if they chose to approach Keelyn seeking new powers, he did not recommend it.

"Has she an explanation for why this ability of hers only works on children?"

This would be another tricky answer, for along with his contempt for any wizard or witch not of "pure" blood, Voldemort had a blind spot for the Arthurian "legend". While willing to believe that Merlin was the father of wizarding kind and Arthur the father of Muggles, he had never been persuaded that it was Arthur, not Merlin, who had created the clear demarcation between the two. Why wouldn't it have been Merlin, in his

contempt for the magicless masses, to cast Arthur's line aside? "She claims it has something to do with the Arthurian cycle, my Lord."

"Bah, tales told to children at bedtime." Voldemort paused, lost in thoughts Snape did not try to discern. Finally, he waved his hands in an impatient gesture. "It matters little, I suppose, as long as she's as powerful in other areas as the Fae who have defected claim."

Severus swallowed hard, worry curling unpleasantly in his belly at the thought of what the Fae might have told Voldemort. While most of Faery's powers had diminished over the generations, he wondered if anyone had explained the portent of the prophecy of the Sidhe to Riddle, and if Riddle had actually given it credence. After all, if Keelyn brought Faery back into power with the help of Merlin's line, where, then, would Riddle's grand scheme be? Clearing his throat to capture Voldemort's attention and placing his own worries firmly aside, Snape leaned laconically back in his chair. "While I strive only to please you, my Lord, I do wonder why I've been summoned. Others could have answered these questions about the Sidhe."

Voldemort's gaze went razor-sharp and penetrating. "Yes, they certainly could. You, however, have an advantage they do not. Did you know, Snape, that Ms. O'Roarke as recently as a day ago spoke with her Queen in some distress over you?"

Torn between the need to protect Keelyn and his keen interest in the topic suddenly at hand, Severus only shook his head mutely. Something of his distress must have leaked, however, because Voldemort's smile grew wider and cunning. Cruelty was something at which Riddle excelled and in which he took great pleasure; it mattered little to him whom he tortured or how, as long as they suffered. Voldemort's announcement also worried Severus that Voldemort knew of Keelyn's contact with Blythe. How, exactly, had he come by such intimate knowledge, when Keelyn's method of communication was a secret so closely guarded even Blythe's lover, Zane, knew nothing of it?

"Ah, well, pity, as it seems the lovely Queen has asked Keelyn to seek your counsel in matters of the Hogwarts students' new powers. Blythe seems sure you can help train them, while Keelyn is rather adamant that she stay as far from you as possible. She even mentioned that the two of you experienced a shared memory not long after she arrived at Hogwarts. As touching as I'm sure it was, I am wondering if you can't be of some use to me still." Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, his eyes suddenly intent, and Severus felt the slimy tendrils of Riddle's mind riffling through his. "So we come back to this: you have something I want, Snape, and that something is Keelyn."

"Why, my lord, if you do not believe she can be useful?" Severus knew from the way Voldemort watched him that he did not want to know the answer to this question. He asked it anyway with the kind of fatalism that had made him snarl at Harry Potter even as he strove to keep him safe.

"Well, she can be useful only as long as she doesn't bring the full prophecy of the Sidhe to pass. As to why you, well, call it punishment, Severus, call it fate, call it whatever you like. You belong to me and, as proof that you still believe in our cause, you will bring me Keelyn, preferably alive, so that I may snuff out Faery once and for all."


	12. Chapter Eleven: Dawn Breaks

_I apologize now to you here at fanfiction.This story is rated NC-17 at checkmated but such content is not allowed here. So, you miss out on the hot, sexy Harry/Ginny lurve that is meant to start out this chapter. If you want to read it and you're over 17, head on over to checkmated – my username there is purrfect, the story name is the same. Otherwise, this chapter is pretty much the same, if shorter. Again, sorry, and enjoy._

Keelyn had lived most of her adult life with silence and in stillness. While restlessness had often marked her childhood and a small handful of years after Severus's defection from Faery, for the most part Keelyn was as calm and serene as any Queen could wish to be, more out of necessity than natural talent. Tonight, however, found her pacing the cold stone floor of Severus's dungeon chambers, wringing her hands and acting like the worst sort of shrinking violet. It was galling to a woman who could wield a sword and magic in equally deadly measure to find herself pining for a man, whether she loved him or not. She wondered with a brief flash of humour if Zane would remind her she needed a lesson in such humility once in a while.

His rooms, she noted, reflected his eclectic tastes as well as his almost militant need for order. Before when they had been lovers, when most of his things had migrated into her room in the Faery Court, he had always found it difficult to deal with her natural inclination toward disarray. They had found compromise in their shared love of dark, brooding, bold colors and heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Tonight she had already paced through a darkly paneled study where the walls were dominated by bookshelves and an elaborate, old-fashioned Muggle chemistry set held pride of place on a priceless antique sideboard, a candle-filled bathroom with a surprisingly spacious bathtub, and a bedroom dominated by a carved four-poster bed hung in heavy black drapes bearing the ancient symbol of the Snapes in silver. She had paused at the bed, running her hand lightly up one of the oversized posts, wondering if she could still tempt him to sin with her among the silk sheets. The thought had sent her whirling back into the outer living room with its scarlet-upholstered high-backed chairs, decadent black chaise lounge, weathered grey stone fireplace and priceless Persian carpets.

Forcing herself now to calm, to take a deep breath, she sank down onto the chaise, leaning back with a sigh as she conjured a fire in the hearth with a thought. She was more tired than she would admit and, promising herself to only rest a moment, she closed her eyes.

* * *

Hours later, bone-weary and tested beyond what little patience he possessed, Severus found her there, sprawled elegantly among the cushions, sleeping soundly, the fire she'd conjured still burning merrily. He paused for a moment in the doorway, his heart stuttering to a stop before it began to beat a hard, fast tattoo in his chest. She was so lovely, even with her glorious hair bound up in that ridiculous braid and wearing those strangely attractive Muggle garments. Severus wondered why he had wasted so many years denying that she was anything more than exactly what he wanted. What sort of path had his life might have taken if she had been by his side all of these years?

"I know it's like asking the sun to rise in the west, but stop brooding, Severus." Her voice, slurred, deliciously husky from sleep but still sharply amused, had his lips curving into their familiar smirk. Slamming the door and resetting the locking charms as second nature, Severus strode towards her as she stretched. Before she could do more than blink up at him owlishly, he had scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a small child.

"Severus!" She said it with a surprised gasp but a twinkle in her eye, her arms curling around his neck. "I'm not a girl any longer, to be swept off of my feet by the likes of you."

He raised a sardonic raven brow, his long strides carrying them past the fire, which she doused with an airy wave of her hand, and into his bedroom, where the candles lit in their wake. "I'm not sweeping you off of your feet, you impudent little baggage, I'm carrying you off to ravage you."

"Oh, well, that's different, then." She smiled softly up at him, her eyes gentle, dove-grey, holding a softness and affection he'd only dreamt of seeing. Feeling much younger than he had any right to feel, he tumbled them both down onto the bed, chuckling as they landed in a tangle of arms and legs and feelings. Though desire was a heavy, grinding ache in his belly, for long minutes the only sound in the room was the softness of their breathing and the ticking of the clock on the mantel as Severus simply held Keelyn, enjoying her softness and warmth so close.

Maneuvering them both so that she lay across his chest, Keelyn stroked his hair back from his face and nuzzled her nose into his neck, sighing softly in contentment. "Your hair is longer than it used to be."

"Mmmm. Do you like it shorter?"

"I just like you, Professor Snape, however horrifying that might seem to your students."

Severus chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hands busy with untying her braid, spreading the heavy silk of her hair over them both. "Yes, you may find it difficult going with Potter, Granger and the Weasleys if they find you fraternizing with me."

"I think Harry has a grudging respect for you, after you relented enough to teach him Occlumency. Besides, from what I hear you aren't exactly the sweetest of professors, always sneering and being rather rude." Her face peeked up from his neck, her eyes suddenly gone seriously dark and a little afraid. "Severus, I've known for several years that you are now spy for Dumbledore rather than dutiful soldier in Voldemort's army. I think now Harry knows it, too. Do the others?"

While Severus was surprised that she knew about his efforts for the Order of the Phoenix, he was more touched by the very real concern in her voice. "Harry knows out of necessity rather than choice. I don't think he's told the others, simply because he has an awesome need to protect the people he cares about. He knows, just like I do, that it's … easier for all of us if my students hate and fear me."

Keelyn nodded, though she still looked troubled. "He asked you to bring me to him, didn't he?"

Severus sighed and nodded, smoothing his hands down the sleek, petite line of her back, snuggling her curves into him, enjoying the way she relaxed into him, a warm, living blanket.

"I'm not surprised. He asked me to join him, before, when he came to Faery. I was…tempted to put myself in your position, to say yes even as I kept my loyalties elsewhere."

"And yet you didn't."

Keelyn sighed and rolled away from him, staring up at the dark canopy of the bed with haunted eyes and clenched fists. "No. No, I couldn't put myself in the line of fire, knowing what I do of the prophecy, of my fate." She turned her head to look at him, despair crawling through her eyes, bleeding them to palest blue. "And now he's put me in the position of coming to him or placing you into danger."

Severus frowned and turned onto his side, his hand sliding out to cover her belly, anchoring them together. "Keelyn, I was in danger before I met you and I'll be in danger for the rest of my life, even if or when Voldemort falls, because so few know where my loyalty truly lies. I'm asking you to live with that, even as I live with the knowledge that some part of you must always belong more to Faery than it does to me."

"Sacrifice and honour, love and duty. They never can quite exist peacefully." Her smile was rueful even as she turned into him, aligning her body with his, her hands framing his face. "I love you, Severus, though it's true I could wish we were both more and less than we are. It's enough that we can accept each other."

A breath Severus hadn't known he'd been holding slid out and he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. It was Keelyn who, long minutes later, lifted sultry eyes to his and whispered, "Make love to me, Severus, now, as the sun rises outside. Make me believe, for this little time, that there's nothing more important than your breath on my skin, your words of love in my ear, and the feel of you moving inside of me."


End file.
